Reading to escape.
For the past several weeks, it seemed that there was never enough time to write. Then why was there more than enough time to read?
Reading allows an escape from one’s own life to enter the lives of other people, whether based on fact or fiction.
Writing allows an explanation of one’s own life, allowing others to enter into that which may be told through essays, poetry, or autobiographical fiction.
These days, I prefer the escape into reading than the explanations writing demands. There is not much to say, at least not much to say that I want to say, that I can say.
Perhaps tomorrow, I will suddenly find a voice again. Or maybe next month. Or maybe not even until next year.
I am not worried (yet). Until it comes back, there is the possibility to escape through reading books.