As I’m sure many avid readers have experienced, I have a to-read list that only seems to get longer no matter how many books I read. And with this to-read list comes a collection of books. Or maybe it’s the other way around. It seems that every time a book comes into my possession I dive right in only to be stolen away by another, because I have all the time in the world to read the books I own but what about the ones I can only borrow? The problem is, with the internet and the world’s library at my fingertips, how can I ever hope to catch up to my own collection?
At any given moment, I’m in the middle of forty or more books. I remember the plots and characters of each one even as I flit from text to text and begin new adventures. I become the characters and travel from world to world, seeking a comfort I can’t always get. Sometimes this makes me wonder who I am. Am I the young adventurer searching for worlds unknown? The damsel waiting for her prince(ss)? The old wise man? Or maybe the villain hiding in the shadows? Do I fight for what I want or do I fight for others? Or do I only fight to survive? Can I? Should I? I don’t know anymore. Maybe I never did.
Books are an escape from these questions, but they help me establish who I want to be.