Do You Ever Feel Like You Miss Out On Life, Because You Are Not Able To Socialize The Way Most People

Professor McGonagall

The synopsis looked good

the cover looked nice,

You opened the book,

and began a new life.

You found a new home,

you met new friends,

You kept on reading,

hoping it would never end.

You danced through the pages,

you sang out the beautiful words,

You felt all their joy,

all their pain and hurt.

The pages cut your fingers,

the words cut your heart,

Like the author had a knife,

and was tearing your soul apart.

You laughed with the characters,

and with them you cried,

You fell in love with them too,

but with them you died.

A catch in your breath,

as the climax grows near,

You become deaf to the world,

the book's all you can hear.

You're completely lost now,

Or perhaps, you are found

In this strange paper world,

that's far from the ground.

When the book reached it's end,

and your broken heart couldn't heal,

you just suddenly realised that,

all this was not real.

This is what it is like reading a book.

Your world becomes an interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, thoughts and images altogether. Paper and ink. Black and white.

- by Shweta Amirapu

“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of a Library.” -Jorge Luis Borges ♡

tw: burnout vent

ahaha does anyone else find it funny when your family tells everyone about how much you like to read and base everything off of books you loved when you were in middle school so you feel obligated to read so you read like 72 books within the span of three months during the summer before 8th grade and now you're a sophomore in high school and have only brought yourself to read like ten books since then bc you burned yourself out so hard that you lost a literal part of you? cause i think its super funny.

hi yes I'd like to order a fucking break for the next million years please. thankyou.

i’m falling so hard for this boy i wanna scream

The great dragon migration

“ᴡʜʏ ᴄᴀᴛs ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ: ᴀ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ғᴇʟɪɴᴇ ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄs”, 1994. x

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