Irrelevant thoughts.

I start reading. My friend said I'd like that book. What is it about? I have no idea. I look at its cover to remember its name. The name is catchy. I go on reading. Why am I reading this? I still have no idea but go on reading anyway. It's not written in a good way; very poor style. I'm not enjoying it. I go on reading anyway. Books have that charm on people. You just can't stop reading once you start, but I want to stop. I promise myself this page would be the last one I read before I head to bed. I'll stop after that. I find myself 10 pages ahead of that page. This book holds a message. A very strong one. Something I thought only I had thought of. I relate to every word. I'm glad I'm not the only one who has these thoughts. I read those last two sentences again to make sure what I've just read is really written in the book and not just in my head. It is written. I fall in love with the book. I feel like telling the whole world how great it is. I'm disappointed my other friends didn't like it. I wish my friends understood my messed up mind. No, I wish people in general understood me. I'm done with the book. What should I do now? I don't want to move on to the next book but I feel like I have to. Moving on to the next book feels like cheating on that book I really like. My brother asks why I read so much. I say I love books, but don't tell him any reasons. The reason is that books open doors to a parallel universe and by choosing the book you get to choose the universe you live in for a while. Why on earth would someone dislike something like that? I look away. My vision gets blurry. My mind and I are two totally different people. I try to shut my mind up so that I could fall asleep, but I can't stop thinking of how great the book was. It described me perfectly. I hug it. I force my mind to die out for the night. Now that my mind is dead, my body has to shut down as well.