Reading

I love to read. But not in the same way other people love to read. I’m very picky with the books I chose to read and, even then, I read slow. Pen in hand, underlining, circling, boxing words in a code only I can understand. Rereading phrases and paragraphs and chapters. Speaking sentences loudly so my ears can feel the ways my eyes do.
People often recommend books to me, and feel disappointed when they hear I didn’t like their recommendation. This problem started my senior year of high school, when the books I read filled a hunger in me I didn’t know I had.

Imagine every time you eat, you eat at a five star restaurant. Each bite meant to complement a different part of your tongue, throat, stomach, heart. Imagine how bad McDonald’s would taste after eating at Gott’s. You’re eating your art, and I am eating mine.