I used to be a voracious reader but nowadays, not so much.
It’s strange, but I don’t really know when or why my appetite for my beloved paperbacks diminished so dramatically over the decades, but somewhere along the line the ability to focus, to concentrate, to lose myself so completely in the fantasy of fiction the way I used to has all but evaporated.
I still have my go-to favourite books I dip into now and again, but I just don’t read them quite like I did before – I’ve somehow lost the love, become detached from delving into my dreamlands so readily, and as time passes I’m finding it bothers me more and more.
I miss it, that comforting characterful world inside my head I carry with me wherever I go, whatever crap reality throws at me. Perhaps I should just find a way to pick up a paperback again and revive that passion once more, breathe the kiss of life back into the wonderful world of words on the page, ripe for turning…