The Nape of Your Neck

I've cried out for light. It is dim in here. It is so dim. I can't function without the light. The light reminds me of reading. This is the opposite of reading, and I am thus discouraged.
I need to be buried in books all the time at all times at every time. I need the books I've loved but don't own. The Great Gatsby. The Princess Bride. I need the books I'd love but haven't read. The Fabulist. The Artist's Way. I'm content to shirk all educational duties for literature instead.
I feel as though my mother any second now will enter and tell me that if I continue on with this talk of books I will soon turn into one.
Oh I wish she would and I wish I believed everything she told me and I wish it were true.