What book could you read over and over again?
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I don’t reread books…
not because I don’t love them
but because once a story gives away all its secrets,
it stops playing with me.
.
And I like it when stories play back.
.
Because somewhere between the lines,
there’s always something hiding
something that doesn’t reveal itself easily…
something that makes me lean in a little closer.
.
And I…
I crave that first spark.
.
The moment I open a new book,
something inside me shifts
like a window suddenly opening,
and in rush
a thousand restless, mischievous thoughts.
.
Dragonflies skim across my mind,
light and fleeting…
Fireflies glow softly in hidden corners,
like tiny secrets waiting to be found…
and clouds
they don’t stay still either.
.
They change, they drift, they play,
painting my thoughts
in colors I didn’t know I carried within me.
.
I don’t read…
I run after them.
.
I try to hold onto a moment,
but it slips away laughing
playful, untamed
and somehow, I end up smiling too.
.
And then…
everything softens.
.
Like time slows down,
like I’ve stepped into a place
where imagination runs free
careless, curious, alive.
.
Books, for me, are never just stories.
They are worlds
and I don’t visit them,
I dissolve into them.
.
My thoughts don’t stay still there…
they wander, they chase, they tumble,
they turn into colors, into laughter, into quiet wonder
like a piece of childhood
that never really left,
just hid between the pages.
.
Maybe that’s why I don’t read the same book twice
because I’m not looking to remember a story…
.
I’m looking to lose myself
in a new one,
again and again. 🌙
.
.
—Rajeshwari 🧿💕
© Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved