4/50 – Missing fiction

Reading only non-fiction, I’ve forgotten how to fly.

I’ve always been a hungry reader. My nose in a book, with the real world around me tuned out, I outwitted the clever hound as “Haunt Fox” and shared Alec’s fear and exhilaration as he rode The Black to victory on the racetrack.

There’s a certain magic to reading fiction; a quieting of the mind. Today I have to search for that familiar pathway into my imagination instead of simply stepping onto it like I used to.

I crave that sweet mental shift and suspension of time. Non-fiction can’t begin to compare.

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