The way a book smells when you thumb through it. The way quiet winter air makes you feel like no one else exists. The smell of the woods after a thunderstorm. That split second before your chair tips back. The feeling right before you cry. The euphoria before the heartbreak. That moment when you wonder if they think of you the way you think of them. These things, I live for.
Outside of a dog, a book is your best friend, and inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.
My alma mater was books, a good library.... I could spend the rest of my life reading, just satisfying my curiosity.
After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer's breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer - perhaps more.
A short story is a different thing all together - a short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger.