/lit/ - Literature

>Head down in my book, clearly deep in the written word
>"HeY, aNoN, WHat ArE yOU ReaDINg???"

Why do people feel the need to do this. WHY DO THEY FEEL THE NEED TO INTERRUPT, WHY CAN'T THEY WAIT UNTIL I LOOK UP OR PUT THE BOOK DOWN

I have a dream that I hold close to my heart. When I imagine the dream in my head, the setting is rarely the same. Sometimes I’m laying on a tropical beach with white sands and clear water, palm trees waving in the gentle ocean breeze. Sometimes I’m in the rocking chair on my grandmother’s porch, the twilight air thick with the heavy summer humidity and fireflies dancing in the fields of wheat. Sometimes I’m curled up on an old, beat up sofa, rain pattering of the apartment window, thunder rolling in the distance, a scratched up vinyl playing on the record player. But none of these are the dream, they're just the stage. The real dream is the girl who is always sitting next to me. We’re always sitting next to each other, holding hands, each of us reading our own book. We’re always reading, but that’s the dream, finding a book girl who lives just as much for reading as I do. In my dreams when I was younger, we always had hardcover books, but now I see us with e-readers, because of course, how else to read one handed? Now we can flip pages with one hand and never have to unlock the fingers of our other. That’s the dream. To have someone in my life who wants to just sit with me and read, just as much as I want to sit with them and read. The dream goes on like that, warm in the presence of each other, the silence a blanket we cozy up underneath.

When I’m lying in bed late at night, letting the dream play on longer than is healthy for me, I always feel her squeeze my hand. I look up from my book to see her looking at me. She smiles and turns her head to the side, her eyebrows going up just a bit silently asking me if I’m okay. I can only smile in return, giving her hand a squeeze too. In those last moments of the dream, before the heartbreak of knowing it isn’t real take over, before the dread of knowing it probably never will be real hits me, she starts to lean over to give me a kiss. Even in my dreams, I’m still a coward and I can only close my eyes, waiting for her lips to touch mine. Even in my dreams, I’m always left waiting. I always wake up from the daydream alone, the book I’m holding like a weight I can no longer lift, my hands ice cold from the lack of her touch.

Have you ever been a member of a Literature Club? What did you do in it? Did you enjoy it? What did you want to do in it that you never did?

Just found out my uni doesn't have one and I want to start one up, but I'm not really sure what we should do. I know for sure I just don't want us to become a book club with a pretentious title.

Physical beauty.

You can't be expected to hold a conversation with a woman if she's not fair.