The Girl Who Reads
There is a girl who reads.It does not matter whether the wind is combing her hair while she takes a sip of coffee on the balcony. It matters not whether it is dark outside or the sun is out, people are shouting or they are splashing in the water, enough to make a tsunami happen. It matters not because she reads.
She is the girl who reads. Stories about far away places and about places she's been to and places that don't even exist. But in her heart, she knows people, way more people than you do. She talks to her self in the dark. "It's bad. I know you're gonna die and I'm going to miss you." And she cries because the person she's pining for probably doesn't exist. At least not in this world.
She is the girl who will stay up in her room all day, even if the moon is out and the gorgeous smell of barbecue is everywhere. She is the one who will sit in the corner of a book shop and keep her head down not because she's afraid to look into your eyes. But because she's carrying a beautiful conversation with a girl on the pages.
Her aura, you can make out with a few letters. The L with the loopy Y. You can see she loves to be cradled by the arms of the book she's holding. The spine rests in her hands like a time machine. She's present here physically but mentally, there is a torrent of emotions rushing through her, tingling her nerves until they are taught and frayed and on edge and someone just knocks over a coffee cup with a loud crash but she doesn't look up. Nor is she startled. Because she is the girl who reads.
You might want to strike up a conversation with her. Drugged by how her eyelashes make dark circles happen. By the angle her forehead makes where it dips into her nose. But all you would hear,
"There isn't just one universe."
"I believe in mermaids."
"Unloaded assignments resemble horcruxes."
And she won't know what a girl wore her hair to school that and how her bubblegum got stuck to the roof of her mouth. She'll look at you with a puzzled expression. Maybe when that happened, she must have been walking down the corridor with her nose in a book.
Sitting in the coffee shop with a book in her lap, you start to make your way towards her. But all she does is reach into her bag for another heavy paperback and greets it like a long lost friend.
Because, she is the girl who reads.
Poetry by Nabeela Altaf
Read 1094 times
Written on 2014-05-11 at 14:12
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