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Echo of a Good Book

As a child I ate books, devoured them over the course of several ours, days. It depended on the amount of uninterrupted time I had. It depended on the book. My favorite thing to do was find places around where i could stick myself. If I was outside it had to be half way in the sun, and half way in the shade. This was so I could put my feet into the warmth and still prevent myself from getting a sunburn.

I always liked to read at night. Always take a break at about 3 am, think about what I had read, think about how it affected me, decide who I really was when no one was looking.

I see echoes of books in my dreams, main characters and villains fighting a never ending battle, placed in worlds that seemed more colorful then the one I wake in. In the dark of the night, watching the moonlight move slowly across the wall, listening to crickets, the creaks and squeaks of the sleeping house; I learned to define myself, to create who I really was, or rather to realize that the person I showed during the day was not the true me. I removed the mask and the echoes were there. Bits and pieces of the characters I admired made up the entirety of me. This is how I should have reacted to this….If only I had found the courage then…

Reading stories defines us as we really are, we live in worlds where we are unashamed, we fight for what we actually believe in rather then what we have been made to think we believe in. Stories that we can empathize with are our favorite stories, the ones that tell us “We are not alone.”

So find a spot, think

Who are you really?

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