Tuesday, December 18, 2012

A Girl Made of Ink

little prince

I like to think that ink pulses through me. I like to think that when I walk by people they catch the scent of old, yellowed pages. I like to think that old film strips flicker behind my eyelids.

Put simply, I read to live. I read because I feel this void without books. I don't just read the "best" books. I read classics and I read teenage romance and I read science fiction and I read self-help.

If my eyes ever look dead, pass me the nearest book and watch me drink it up. I just need a little bit of literary sunlight and then I'll be filled again.

My condition isn't rare, really. There are plenty of bibliophiles in the world. We're the ones who weep at the beauty of a symbol. We're the ones who get lost for hours in a world that isn't our own. We're the ones who were grounded from books because we hid with out flashlights under our sheets because we couldn't bear to go to sleep and miss one minute that we could have spent reading.

We're not the fan girls. Fan girls come and go, fan girls obsess about one series or one character or one genre. That's not us. We'll read almost anything: romance or not, difficult words or not, happy ending or not.

Our cousins are the cinephiles. I have my cinephile tendencies. I relish movies like Citizen Kane and Shawshank Redemption, but also The Breakfast Club and The Princess Bride. The cinefiles criticize and analyze their beloved movies. They rip them apart, looking at angles, script, lighting, and fifty other elements. They don't see simply the big picture, they see them smallest pieces and connect the dots.

I have the eyes and brain of a cinephile and the mind and heart of a bibliophile.

In the words of C.S. Lewis, "we read to know we are not alone." I read to discover myself. I read to empathize. I read for that sense of catharsis. I read to escape. I read to find beauty. I read to dream. I read to experience the mere act of reading.

I'm a girl who bleeds ink. Please tell me if you do, too.

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