ME WITH BOOKS


 

                              I love to live in books. When I read the book, they take me into their world. So I go and wait and see what they do. But they don't know that I am looking at them like that. It's just like in those movies the soul is gone and watching everything. Something like that is happening here.


                     If I am not a part of it. But when they are happy, my heart is full, and when they are sad, I am also hurt. When they are alone, I feel like running to hug them and make up my mind. I want to tell them that this is not the end and the story is not over yet. There are many more. I will quickly read the story and tell you about your beautiful future. But my soul can't even touch them. I can't even make up my mind. I have to wait and see how their lives unfold. It's like us who try to give up everything when life falls down when a problem comes, but the end of our story is not here, there is another beautiful future ahead of us. No one would say that to us and look at us with hope, right? So this is not the end, there is more to bear.

                  


              None of the books I read had pictures. At least these were not said to be this color. But for me, that world is created automatically. It's like the person who wrote the books sent me a secret message. I don't know whether the world created for me or for others who read that book will be created. Maybe it will be different. I have no way of knowing that. Because that book is very beautiful, I don't know how to say that this is the way things are created.


          How can a person send another person to another world with the tip of a pen? After reading the last page of the book, how long will that man be lost in that world? Can a tiny tip of a pen really do so much???

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