The crowd rushes by with me in its midst.
I may be surrounded by swarms of people, enveloped in cacophony, but my soul is isolation and my world is silence.
I AM alone.
The people run around in the sun, laughing and playing, having great fun. I watch them and learn, but my eyes are darkness and my smile is abandoned.
I AM afraid.
Boys and girls fall in and out of love during these years, deciding on their course of life. I yearn to feel that excitement, to be able to love without regret, but instead my laugh is parched and my heart is famished.
I AM unsatisfied.
Teenagers and peers talk to friends on the phone. They have drama to dissect, and break-ups to cry over. I listen to this, pretending to understand, but my feelings are vacancy and my thoughts are idleness.
I AM deprived.
I read, eyes fastened to the pages of a romance, thriller, or murder mystery. I look at letters, connecting the letters to words, the words into sentences, the sentences into paragraphs, the paragraphs into chapters, the chapters into novels, and the novels into stories. And through these compositions gifted by great minds, I have unleashed myself.
My soul has found companionship, my world is flooded with music.
My eyes now have discovered light, and my smile has been adopted.
My laugh has been quenched, and my heart is full.
My feelings have been occupied, and my thoughts have become purpose-filled.
All of these things have become true through fictional characters, who love, cry, hate, laugh, kill, mourn and hurt just like me. I read about them, see them, feel what they feel as if I were them, and I temporarily become them.
The fulfillment of of reading is the blessing of each character, given to me by each author. I am me because of them, and I change with every page I turn.