Life Between Books

I consume books. I do not simply read them. I consume them. Devour them. Suck the life out of them, chew them up, swallow them, and digest them. I do not daintily nor carelessly read a book. And the ones that call for careless reading I toss aside after a few pages.

I used to think prison would be an okay place because I could read all day. As a child, I dreamed of inventions where the book's pages would be cast on the ceiling so I did not have to hold the book up with my tired little arm. My mom and dad could only get me to do certain things if I were promised hours of uninterrupted reading. I distinctly remember thinking how lucky I was authors created such intricate provocative characters whom I could know every aspect of their lives. I cannot rest until I see what a stranger in the airport, on the metro, at the bus stop is reading because from what they are reading, I can tell who they are and what they like.

I blame my story-telling grandfather and my fellow book-devourer father for this love of literature (although his consumption is much more methodical and intentional--much like he eats) .

When I am between books and haven't settled within the pages, I feel restless.

"Cuentame algo, aunque sea una mentira"