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I miss reading. So much.

I have grown up knowing and being told that the only thing I'm (probably) good at is writing. And that, I have always connected to the fact that I have learned a lot from the authors who created my favorite novels.

This is also the reason that I try to read as often as possible. Books are almost a permanent item in my list of things-to-buy on paydays and also in my wish lists of things I want to receive on my birthday and on Christmas. I consider books as great friends because it is through them that I am given the chance to meet different people, get in touch with my emotions and go to places I know I'd never be.

Books also have given me people and names and lessons to cherish for the rest of my life. I'm glad that I am one of the minority that has known of Harry Potter and Katniss Everdeen before everybody else has seen them in motion pictures.

Lately though, I seem to have lost my reading gusto. I hate to say it but these past few days, I have more than once tried and failed to continue with a novel that I have started already. My books stacked neatly in my closet, unopened and unread since they are purchased, are growing in number. It alarms me how I could only look at them without opening them.

Mostly, I have fatigue to blame for it. I know I may only be making a sore excuse out of it. But it's kind of true. I go home everyday feeling tired and beaten. My mind is screaming for the time to do things that I would not need to think about or simply to rest. Needless to say, my mind takes over my entire body and vehemently rejects reading at night.

Oh well. I'm trying my best to overcome this. Someday, and at the soonest possible time, I would fight hard to regain my reading enthusiasm.

I will open my books again, smell their unique scent and find myself transported to another world.