User Review( votes)
written by: Sobhan Pramanik
I love sitting hidden between the doors of my wooden bookcase.
In fact, when I am too unsure about picking a new read or simply feeling worn out by the chores of a routine life, needing a deliberate escape, I do exactly that: pull up a chair in between; the doors hanging from the hinges by my sides forming impenetrable walls to the most private, quietest, thought-inducing space I can have to myself, and sit with my legs crossed on my lap, smelling the musky odour of its rain-fattened timber, pulling out titles - read, unread, half-read; and turning over to stray pages to catch the story midway, off guard, littered in passages of wordy brilliance. Like impishly walking in on your woman dressing at the mirror and running your cold fingertips down her moist, bare back, evoking a love that is to remain a secret between them, like the lost reader's existence in a sea of books.