Sometimes, you give too much of yourself to a book.  You pour in your imagination, creativity, ideology, thoughts and loves.  The book gives back.  Filling you with words and wishes and notions that only the author and you could even begin to understand but never explain.  People say that a person cannot live under lock and key, cannot grow without moving about in the world.  I beg to differ.  I believe that the door to understanding is not out in a physical, disdainful world but internal.  The way to truly grow is to internalize.  You can internalize your walk through the world and learn many things; but that isn't all you can learn.  That isn't all you should learn.  You can learn nothing new from revisiting your own outlooks on others; the true way to learn is to internalize how others perceive the world.  I live a life through books; I fill my head with the story and live it through an empathy stronger than any reality.  I mingle with the book; I share myself with a book; and the book shows me things I could have never dreamed of.  Live in a book and you become flexible, churning and shifting, a teeming mass of thoughts and dreams and aspirations.  You move dwelling swiftly and softly; shutting one cover then breaking a new binding.  You change yourself through your experience, through other people's experiences.  You find a new person at the end of each story you read.  You find a new face; a new mirror; a new life that had been lived out entirely in only a few short words; because no matter how long a book seems, it is always short once it's finished.  So, I feel like a book.  I keep turning pages, I keep growing and changing; I try to explain to others what only I can understand.  But a new question arises.  In this life, this book, this story, this too short to be true but too long to overlook thing that happens to everyone in different ways and different attitudes, in this... are you and I the author or the audience?