It's Almost One A.M.

And I'm not asleep yet. By all rights, I should be conked out and dead to the world in bed. Obviously, I'm not; I'm sitting at my laptop on here. I bought a book yesterday. My first *book* in over a month. It felt good. (Plus, I used my ISIC card to get a student discount. Double yay.) I started reading it today and I was reading it right before I turned the laptop back on.

I can't sleep. Maybe it's because I was reading. I'm too empathic if you ask me. Why do I read? Or maybe, why do I specifically read my books? It's an escape. I know it. I guess it's my way of running away without actually running away. In a book, I live the characters' lives. I grow with them. When they're happy, I'm happy. When they cry, I cry with them. And when they love...well, good for them. I live their emotions. When they're happy, I'm exhilarant; but when they're sad, when they must deal with the heartache that always finds them and accompanies anyone heading towards love and happiness, I ache for them. I ache with them. It's that all-too-familiar wrenching in the gut that always gets to me. But I can rest assured in the knowledge that no matter what hardships the protagonists endure, no matter how many lows they hit, no matter how hopeless it all may seem, there is always that happy ending waiting for them. I know that they will find their true happiness - love and each other - and be at peace in the end.

Maybe that's what's keeping me awake.


ps - I love Borders. They're the only ones who actually have a 'Romance' section.