There are beautiful, secretive moments that transpire between author and reader, particularly when to the outside world, you’re just reading a book; but between you and the author, you just read something incredibly sexy, or thought provoking, or devastating. From the outside, you’re just reading, but internally your mind is a swirling vortex of imagination, thought, emotion, and profound depth.
Have you ever watched someone read? The anticipation as they gently life the page, eagerly readying to see where their journey goes next. The way they shift their position, lounging or sitting in their relaxed state, gentle breathing, but their mind as furious as a hurricane, inhaling the pages before them as though fighting for air, an insatiable craving that will not desist until the final page is absorbed.
Then there’s the way they glance at you over the top of their book, a brief reprieve to remind them that the world is still going on around them. Or how they look at you once they’ve torn themselves away, as if upon waking from a dream, happy to return to you and the world they know.
People think reading is boring.
I think its subtle, sexy, and wondrous.