When I was eleven, my cousin took me to a library. He helped me pick a book, one small book with a few pages and no pictures. As a kid, I have never had my parents read me bed time stories, so I was never interested in books. But that day, everything changed. My cousin prompted me to read the book, in exchange for candy and so I grudgingly read it. I don't exactly remember what the book was, but after I read it, I forgot all about the candy and I wanted to read more books.
When I was twelve, I had out-smarted all the students in my class, but then I was harshly reminded that nobody likes an insufferable know-it-all. After that, I never let anyone know that I read stories. It became my little secret; a guilty pleasure.
As I grew, the size of the books I read did too. In the real world, I had always felt out of place, no matter how much I tried to fit in. But soon, I finally felt like I truly belonged in my fantasy. My mind was a beautiful yet complex place to live.
When I was fifteen, I realized that if it was that easy for me to fall in love with fictional characters, it would be easy for me to fall in love with real people too. It was then I knew that I wanted to fall in love with someone; have my own ending with the pain and sorrow. I longed for it.
Nobody knew that I read. But that was all I did- read, read, read. I was an avid reader. I tried my hand at writing, but it never worked out. Reading was all I ever wanted to. It gave me something to feel, someone's pain was my pain, their happiness was my happiness. I was always reminded harshly that it was fictional. I longed to know what real feelings would be like.
When I was eighteen, I got a job at the local bookstore and it was like a dream come true. My Mom was stunned when I told her that I wanted to work at a bookstore, considering my grades she thought I would leave this small town in Ohio and go out in the real world and pursue something.
I always felt like I never had a talent- I was an average at everything. I finally found my passion, my talent, it was in reading. I was an avid reader. The thoughts flew at millions of words per second and I liked to stay that way.
I assured my Mom that I would make a real living ( I didn't know what that was ) just to make her happy and she was relieved to some extent. Ecstatic about my new job, I rambled on about the tiny bookstore, called the "Bookstore" and I could barely sleep at night.
Who knew that working at a bookstore, in this tiny town of Lima, Ohio would bring me my story, my love story which had all the pain, happiness, sorrow, heart break and love.
I learned to live and I taught her how to love.
But, of course, every story has a beginning and an end.
Mine began when she walked in on a stormy night, drenched and looking lost.
The rest just wrote itself.
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