“We read to know we are not alone.”

-C. S. Lewis

Writing  has been one of the passions burning deep within my soul. And I doubt I would be loving stringing characters that could do wonders if I lacked desire for reading. Next or probably alongside watching films and listening to good music, reading is something I love and am proud of doing. Books appear to be nothing more than different combinations of the old alphanumeric characters in black ink and pressed onto sheets of tree fibers. But when you finally manage to submerge yourself into a world the author created, you would find that books hold so much more. Just like films and music and every other form of art, literature tells stories. It makes you a part of worlds only existing in the author’s wildest imaginations, lets you get to know the deepest desires and well-hidden thoughts of princes, knights, vagabonds, and unlikely heroes in a frail child, and it allows you to experience the world without having to leave your seat. It gives you the great privilege to live in different decades, in varying centuries. It lets you feel emotions you may never feel as you go back to reality. And if ever I die today, I could say that I would die a happy death because I have been different persons in my only lifetime.

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