Return Overdue

I miss reading books. I miss reading at bedtime and on rainy, lazy weekend days. I miss the awe I feel for an eloquent writer. I miss underlining words that I don’t understand and sentences that stand out for their sheer brilliance, be they witty, pithy or both. I miss finding mistakes in texts. I miss opening lines and reading the last line first. I miss falling in love with books and writers and not wanting a book to end.
Mostly, though, I miss the part of myself that loves how much I love words and prose and syntax. That part of me that spends hours in second hand book shops and talks excitedly to others about her favourite authors. Like a well loved book that’s borrowed but not returned, I’ve forgotten where, and to whom, it went.

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