hasanadil233

I am a book freak, yes.

So what?

While I hole myself up in a good story,

you’re off reading things from Facebook.

While I lose myself in unknown worlds,

you’re off playing Minecraft or World of Warcraft.

While I learn things you cannot imagine,

you’re off failing school and your teachers and family.

I know more about some characters than I do myself—

characters you will never know.

I can survive my whole life in a world—

a world you will never see.

I know the secrets of people, places, and creatures—

all of which you will never meet.

I could ruin your life, if I had the heart to and if you and I were in one of the worlds I know—

and you would never tell the difference.

I create worlds, people, creatures, but most of all lives with my words that you call another boring subject—

something you will never experience the joy and pride of.

I have ridden on dragons, outwitted darkness, eluded death a thousand times . . .

I have saved lives, used magic, unraveled deathly secrets that could start wars . . .

I have swum with the serpents, flown with the pegasi, howled with the wolves . . .

I have stood upon the moon, fought in great battles, discovered new universes . . .

I have relived long-gone lives, shaped new destinies, guided the paths of others . . .

I have stepped into other worlds, become other creatures, experienced unimaginable things . . .

I have lived through wars, living nightmares, the worst of tragedies . . .

I have felt the joy, pride, and elation of just—knowing.

Knowing the fact that you would never learn what I have.

And never have I moved a single inch, as long as I read.

Yet you claim that all of this is boring—

Boring, stupid, sad, uncool, dumb, even embarrassing.

You say that this is something no one can like.

And yet, here I stand, holding a book.