I was reading a book, in fact I read quite a lot of books. And people think I am quite the odd one, where there's time to enjoy the frolick of holidays, I cramp my style and end up reading books after books. But books, to me at least, are more than just mere pages filled with endless lines of words

Somehow, reading a book is like borrowing time. Time off from the world, time in a frame of pages. Time to let loose what emcompasses your imagination, and let it expand along the lines. Like, stepping into another world all together, by which the book is our dictator, and we're characters, subject to the script.

But like every good thing, it must come to an end. I absolutely love the frisson of reading fresh content of every flip and turn of the pages. But it sizzles when it nears the end. When you know that this holiday ends here. When you know that you're going to have to leave the storybook after a few more flips. When it feels as though you're going to be regurgitated out of the book, back into reality. If the center of the book is the climax, the end is definitely the nadir. But the end of the storybook, doesnt have to end there, does it?

With each book read and content absorbed, every book seem to leave an impression with me. Doesnt have to be something deep rooted or inveterate. But more of a memory of the world. The world I still do believe lives out there, which I havent actually seen it with my own eyes, but I've been there. A world which is deja vu to me. But I've never actually seen it.

A world, of borrowed time.