Reading makes me sad. It wasn’t this way before, but things have changed somehow. Stories that used to give me a sense of adventure, only give me a sense of painful longing now. Alice in Wonderland is nothing but a foggy memory, Harry Potter is nothing but a lost dream. I don’t swing on the swings anymore; I just drag my feet underneath me. There’s this thing about existing, it happens to be completely pointless. I don’t count the stars anymore; I just look into the darkness between them.

I don’t like to look into the details of things. I find the less you know about something, the easier it is to enjoy that thing. As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. So reading makes me sad. Not because of the story, but because of the detail. It’s like dreaming when you’re awake. But normal life isn’t like that. In normal life you don’t notice beauty like they do in stories. Seconds don’t last for two pages. Things happen quickly, fleetingly, and without meaning.

Sometimes you see rainbows where they shouldn’t be, and sometimes if you look at the trees it might seem like they are dancing; but then the moment is gone and you have nothing but memories. Memories that slowly fade and then you have nothing. It’s harsh, and it’s cold. Sometimes it’s beautiful. Creation is just as chaotic as destruction. Destruction is just as beautiful as creation.

So I don’t like reading, because when you read everything is perfect, and I hate that real life isn’t like that. I hate that real life isn’t full of adventure, and magic, and mystery. I hate that the universe doesn’t care about me, when I care so much about it. To me, my entire existence is all I’ve ever known, but to the universe, I’m not even a piece of dust. I’m nothing. In story books it’s not like that. You’re always the hero, you always have purpose. There’s love, passion, and moments that last forever. It makes real life look pretty bleak and disappointing, why would I want to do that to myself?

Oh, but how I love it. Knowing you may never experience beautiful things doesn’t stop them from being beautiful. Humans are selfish creatures by nature; it’s an evolutionary trait that’s helped us survive so naturally we want things we cannot have. It makes enjoying things a bit more difficult, because you always think of yourself. But sometimes there are things, stories, moments that are so incredible you forget about yourself for a moment. Later you regret losing yourself so easy because you’re forced back into your cold reality, but just for a moment, a couple pages, magic is real! And this boy just found his soul mate! And the sky is a million colours! And everything is amazing and perfect. Look here! See how this leaf has a million little veins in it? And over here! Smell this flower! Doesn’t it smell like the sweetest thing you’ve ever experienced? Doesn’t it smell like love and home? Look around you. Look at the dust in the sun light, look at the flowers in the grass.  It’s beautiful. It’s there forever, as long as this page exists.

Let me tell you a secret: I actually love reading… It’s just hard, because beautiful things like the ones in stories don’t happen. The world is painful and there will always be people who hate you just for who you are. However, here’s the peculiar thing about life: existence is pointless. The universe does not care about you. In the end, nothing really matters. Do what you love. Of course, it will never be as beautiful as in the stories, but it will be something. Having memories to forget is better than having no memories at all and even though those moments are fleeting and they lack the colour and passion of a three paragraph first kiss, they still happened, and they are still beautiful. Life is still beautiful. And time goes on.