I dumped my love — of reading.

Library, my personal portal

I came back home yesterday from the library. Empty handed.

While I was there, I stood longingly at the entire shelf of novels I so dearly love and crave to read. I caressed the books with my finger tips. I enjoyed the thrill run down my spine reading each story cover.

I love books. With all my heart and soul. Nothing is more exciting and peaceful to me than losing myself in a completely new dimension. Away from my life, my present.

There is so much peace, in being in a corner, immersed in a book. I don’t even like the interruption of sipping coffee or snacking. I read like a wide-eyed statue. Only my pupils move. And my hand as it flips the page.

But now, those precious, loved moments aren’t there anymore. Each time, no matter how busy I have been in my life, how down or how broken or how lost, I always had a book in my hand.

For the first time ever in my life, I had an array of selection. So much like choosing the ripest fruit in dire hunger. But I just couldn’t.

I moved my baby from my aching right arm to the left. I gulped down the regret and moved my heavy feet back to my bench with my other two kids. My time is tight. I cannot do what I love.

I betrayed my books. To hold hands with my pen. I have to NOT read what I love, to find time to write what I love.