When you read, you’re allowed a glimpse into another world.
A world that may be similar to yours with only a few slight distortions, or
maybe even a world that is completely different from yours.
You’re transfixed
at the whole new world that appears to you, and as you read it, you enter it.
You’re allowed this whole new backstage pass to the thoughts and actions of all
these different characters. It allows you to disappear from this world, and nothing
else matters.
Nothing matters.
Just the printed words in front of you. Just this whole new
world that is in front of you. Just,
everything in that moment pivots on the string of words that comes after
another.
Sometimes, though only in some books, something spectacular
happens.
Sometimes it’s the character, Sometimes it’s the plot, and sometimes
it’s both.
Some books allow you into this whole new world that somehow seems
familiar. It straddles the thin line of escapism and reality that lightly raps
its knuckles on the Fourth wall, which itself enraptures and warps your
consciousness and self being.
It’s because you see a glimpse of yourself in
this world.
Where you disappear to only appear, in the pages of a book.
And that…that is beautiful.
