I am one of those people who always liked the books, I believe that because of the trip, because of those moments in which you lose so much in the reading that is part of it.
I devoured books as a child and then as a teenager, and as an adult, came the responsibilities, studying, the marriage is every day was slowing down, and the social networks were taking time, and I started to read the small thoughts, but three lines do not make a book, do not describe a universe in which you can imagine and enter, or think how your life would be if you were the main character of the book, I found myself limited in looking at the social life of others and saw myself sad, and asked me questions like: why was not I invited to this party? Why can not I travel to another country too? Why can not I walk around and eat açaí on a Sunday with friends?
Oh, I remember, nobody invited you, don’t you see? You can not go to another country because you work, you can not eat acai on Sunday 01 you don’t have friends, 02 you have to study…
I gave myself time, long after I realized the time lost reading small sentences, and spying on other people’s lives and saddened by things that I did not even want, or missed, I always had the books, the books these you can smell and leaf through, the Hero is yours until to the end!
What the eyes see they greed of the mind, and brings the dissatisfaction, brings the loneliness, brings a void that you had not, but now you have, just because you saw a picture of someone smiling in that situation, but then? The photo was taken the person will be still smiling or is looking for another angle?
Is it Social Network or High Society and Media Network?
And the psychologists, psychoanalysts and pharmacists are grateful!
The dissatisfaction of the human being is becoming more insatiable, and people more unhappy, and now also buy even self help books, which someone posted saying to be very good in only three lines.
However I think I prefer books, long stories, pages and pages of fiction, and adventures, or romance, full of friends only mine, in a world created by my mind that since child was already satisfied with the smell of a good book.
Submitted by Juliene Guarento