How did I even manage to find it at a second-hand book sale 9 months ago.
How did I go through the past few months without finishing an actual (story)book.
How could I have not borrowed any library books for such a long time.
How could I have let myself forget how blissful it is to be able to delve into another world and spend an entire day in it.
How could I have let amazing stories that gave me goosebumps fade from memory.
This morning I woke up with a super desperate craving. I was craving for a good book, desperate to find back that feeling of being lost in a good book. I was originally going to reread shopaholic, but I figured it would take a long time to finish the whole series, so I just picked up a random book slotted right beside that series. So glad that I did. The feelings are coming back bit by bit, but I hardly have enough time to make them stay. And they make me guilty. Because its like if I have the time to read storybooks, then I should spend that time reading textbooks or chinese compositions or music scores or other boring mundane stuff.
How? :(
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