A reader has prologue that serves as her map, synopsis as her compass and her things were packed up into a little kit hidden deep within her musings.
A reader sees nobody else but the characters drawn to life before her very eyes -with tangled invisible thread that connects each one of them, like perfecting a puzzle that was once completed by whoever reached that destination before her.
A reader has bookmarks that served as her signage on how far she’ll go, how many stops she had to make, reminding her that the road is not a smooth ride always.
A reader hugs the book like it will comfort the one on it that was hurt.
A reader smells the pages like the addictive aroma of a coffee.
A reader digests every ounce of descriptive words ascribed on it — savoring every metaphor and idiom, tasting it like her favorite stress reliever foodies.
A reader hops into various sentiments and emotions in every chapter like the seasons that she has to go through.
A reader travels in places that are both non-existing and existing.
A reader admires the writer itself like she had known her/him all throughout her life.
A reader is close to love someone who’s mythical and is living in a book — where she can freely flip back a missed out scene and learn from different stories in different walks of life without anyone judging her own.
A reader reads thinking about maybe one day, someday, just maybe, she’ll read about a familiar tale that she had kept by years and is now one of those that readers love to read.