The reader.

My life is foggy, but books are clear.
I block myself from my own life's story,
but as I crack open books, they crack open me.
And I feel.
And I cry.
I hate crying, but books always do it to me.
Do I read because I'm a masochist, then?
I think I read because it's easier to let myself feel
and cry over someone else's life
than it is to let mine sink in.
Then again, I always find my own life,
myself,
in the books I read.