• I felt the urge to pick up a book today, to read until my heart’s content.
    I want to immerse myself in a world never before seen, whether out of want or need, I do not know.
    I want to feel the pages glide beneath my fingertips and I long for the smell that only an old book can give, one that has seen better days and has been read until the pages start to crinkle and rip.
    I want to leave myself for a time and be someone else, to start anew, to be like a phoenix and don a new splash of color and feathers.
    To understand someone in such an intimate way that only a book can accomplish, whether it be the author, a narrator, or even the most seemingly insignificant of characters.

    I felt the urge to pick up a book today, if only to live again, in the eyes of someone else.
    It is a calming sense of unconsciousness,
    Yet you’re entirely conscious of everything.
    It is something that can hardly be put into words because it’s not entirely zoning out, but you’re not really there either.
    It is a feeling of complete bliss and comfort,
    Yet it is also a blinding kind of numbness.

    I felt the urge to pick up a book today, it has been a long time since I have felt this.
    To explore another world, to leave all my worries behind and pick up someone else’s.
    To change my name, features, maybe even my personality if I so choose, these are things a book can do.
    It is an out of body experience that cannot be wholly described, but something to reminisce about on a cloudy day.
    To pick up a book is to lose yourself in only the best way, an escape without consequences,
    An adventure just waiting to be found.