Something Like a Phoenix.
I’d like to think that I’m a voracious reader, but the truth is that I don’t really read half as often as I’d like. Over the last couple of months, I stopped writing about the little that I did get to read. It’s not that I’m pressured by the Internet to read and to write, but every time I survey my room and my eyes fall on unread books, I keep awakening a desire to read all of them, at the same time.
If only there were enough time.
I guess this is an attempt to reawaken that active reader who is immersed and involved in, and ultimately, excited about books. About time, too, because I missed her.
