Sunday, December 10, 2006

I haven't spent time in the bookstore for a long time.

I missed the days of leafing through the latest prints on the shelf. Trying to figure which will be a good read to take me through the days in solitude. I remember how I used to just want to read in my younger days, missing hours of sleep just to live the life of the hero in the novel. I am sure that my failing eyesight had something to do with the inane pasttime. Yet somehow the passion to read never quite burn anymore since joining the workforce. The steady gait and the mounting stresses have killed the desire to enjoy a good literature.

I finally got to relived the inane act of wandering through the heaps of paperbacks this evening. Looking at the multitudes of titles on the shelves, I felt the joy of being lost in the world of words. My wandering eyes found rest on . Not too sure why the title caught my attention.

The book now lies on my bed. :)

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I have been reading Sherlock Holmes of late and this is my third book of his. Though i have a tendency to have 2-3 books with me at the same time. Other stuff that i am browsing through are watercolour books.

7:27 PM  
Blogger SC said...

I only vaguely remember reading one of his books. Not too impressionable though. I love your watercolour painting. Wish I could paint like that someday

7:59 PM  

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