Ramblings of Insecure Narcissism

I remembered recently why I studied literature as an undergrad, why I clung so desperately to the stories of others sent out into the world.  Because I needed them.  I needed to escape my reality, and get involved in something that was not of myself. Over the last year I’ve found myself reading novels less and less, inversely proportional to the fullness of my life.  In NY I created this amazing life for myself that I didn’t need to escape from, that I wanted to be present for at every moment.  

Yet. now again I find myself turning to literature to get through the days.  My life is empty, which will get better when school starts, and I need something to fill it with.  So again I am eternally grateful to all those people who sent their stories out in the world, allowing people like me to be less lonely if only for a little while.