I think, rather I am sure now that I have almost forgotten what it feels like to finish a book.
Feels like ages since I felt the thrill of picking up a new book, curiously going through its first few pages wondering what world was the author going to take me into, the joy of physical turning of pages and absorbing each and every word, every emotion. The accomplishment of reading something from start to finish, and still wanting more.
There was a time when reading for hours at a stretch was as effortless as..umm..breathing! Yeah, that easy. But now try as I may, I can just not be able to bring myself to pick up a book, and if by some stroke of luck I succeed in picking up, my attention spam doesn't stay on for more than a couple of minutes.
I feel stripped off a major source of joy in life.
Damn you internet.
Feels like ages since I felt the thrill of picking up a new book, curiously going through its first few pages wondering what world was the author going to take me into, the joy of physical turning of pages and absorbing each and every word, every emotion. The accomplishment of reading something from start to finish, and still wanting more.
There was a time when reading for hours at a stretch was as effortless as..umm..breathing! Yeah, that easy. But now try as I may, I can just not be able to bring myself to pick up a book, and if by some stroke of luck I succeed in picking up, my attention spam doesn't stay on for more than a couple of minutes.
I feel stripped off a major source of joy in life.
Damn you internet.
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