I want to read

It’s so noisy.

The world. The mind.

I want silence. I want a break.

I want to read.

It’s been a while since I picked up a book with no objective.

It’s been a while since I picked up a book without feeling there is something else that’s needed to be done.

It’s been a while since I picked up a book without feeling guilty about the dozens other books sitting on my shelf that hasn’t been read. ‘Now, what make this one so special that it needs to be read first?’

It’s been a while since I picked up a book without also being keenly aware and judging that I am not fully present reading this book.

It’s been a while since I picked up a book without subconsciously fearful of my secret fascination with clever use of words and intelligent ideas. ‘You are too much in your head.’

It’s been a while since I forbade myself to indulge completely in my pleasures.

It’s been a while since I picked up a book to read with ease.

A wild but not so wild thought came to me as I pick up the book –

‘I am reading. That’s all.’

The laptop is in front of me. My long to-do list is in front of me.

And I am choosing to read in this moment.

I want to savour every single word, admire its beauty and intelligence and wordiness because, ‘F**k! I love to read!’

I want to read.

If not this moment, then when?

I heaved a deep sigh.

I read.