I read for a number of reasons. Before, I didn’t have anything else to do. So I read to pass the time. I hoarded books under my bed. I think before I left, I had about 20 books in my “TBR” or to be read pile. Some of them looked promising, others were junk that I could blow through in an afternoon.

My favourite ones that I’d already read, were on display, against the rules on my desk. The Twilight series, and the books that Crystal had sent me. They were, and still are comfort books for me. I may not reread them often now, but I’ll still pick up and flip through House of Leaves. In its pages are treasures. Seriously, there’s metaphorical treasures, and physical ones as well. That’s the book I flip through when I’m really homesick. When I’m on the verge of tears, I’ll pull out that book, and if I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough, I can almost see Crystal doing the same thing, and flipping through the pages.

Sounds kind of stupid, huh?

I read to escape. I’ve been reading now for a hobby since mid February, and now I’m starting to notice that I can picture what’s going on in my minds eye. That surprised me. Before, I’d read and see nothing in my mind. It’s slowly coming back to me, that makes me excited to keep reading.

I read to laugh, to cry, to be transported some place different. To meet and interact with characters much better than me. I can dive into a book, and not be myself for a little while. I can be a hero, a side character, or just be invisible to watch how things unfold.

To me a book can be way better than a movie or a TV show. So much more detail, more…. humanity I guess. I mostly buy books that their cover catches my eye. Then the back of the book

Will this book take me away on an adventure? That’s my ultimate goal – to escape for just a few precious minutes. To become someone that’s not me just for a second.

Why do you read?