“I remembered the moment I read a novel for the first time.
The texture of the soft paper touching my fingertips. The black letters blooming on a white field. The texture of the page I folded with my hands.
「 It isn’t important to read the letters. The important thing is where the letters lead you. 」
My mother, who loved books, used to say this. At least for me, it wasn’t just a saying.
The gaps in the black print. My own little snow garden lay in between the letters. This space, which was too small for someone to go into, was a perfect place for a child who liked to hide. Every time a pleasant sound was heard, the letters stacked up like snow.
In it, I became a hero. I had adventures, loved and dreamt. Thus, I read, read and read again.
I remembered the first time I was about to finish a book. It was like being deprived of the world.
The protagonist and supporting characters walked off with the sentence ‘They lived happily ever after’ and I was left alone at the end of the story. In my vanity and sense of betrayal, my young self struggled because I couldn’t stand the loneliness.
「This… is the end? 」
Perhaps it was similar to learning about death. For the first time, I realized that something was finite.”
―
Singshong,
전지적 독자 시점 1 [Jeonjijeog Dogja Sijeom 1]
