Book by Peculiarczar
To me, you were this new interesting book right off the bookstore, you were on the bookshelves and no one would bother to look at you, only a few hungry souls who is in love with underrated beauty. The scent of the new lingers through my very veins, and I couldn't wait to read it. As I was reading the book, I tried to guess what's going to happen next but, at the same time I was having a good read. As I engage in every page I find it hard to move to the next but, I wanted to read more...sometimes, I would even reread the page. Now, In that book, you weren't the pages one to ten, or twenty or one hundred. To me you were more like a series, and in that series I would crave for the next book and the next. To me, that's what it's like to be with you, an exciting read that I come back to that I sometimes sleep next to the book as I smile on my slumber. You were the book that keeps my imagination alive, that gives me hope and makes me enter a new dimension, in which only we can understand. The simple text that is so much more than a font in black and white. You were a complex context into which my mind gets coiled but, If I comprehend further I will understand. It was fun with you, the pixie dust for every page turned, the herd of unknown creatures hopping, galloping on the meadow of my mind, the lake of vocabulary and the presence of enchantment that you gave to me. The beguile messages continue to haunt me, leaving me in puzzles unsolved, bridges not crossed, sentences undone and a thousand paths mistaken. It's hilarious how I continue to read even if I know something wicked is going to happen and, as we all know wicked has two meanings. Now what happens when something hinders my reading? perhaps, school work or an abundance or other important matters. It's the same feeling when you wait for another season of your favourite TV show, or when you're waiting for your name to be called for a recitation, that agonizing moment that squishes your very soul, it's like your internal organs are being compressed together making it hard for you to breathe. Being without you feels like, there is a vacant space in my chest, like there's an abandoned library waiting to be refilled with bookworms, a pause in the movie that I'm watching, a unchecked event on my bucket list and, a book that wasn't finished.