With every passing minute I find myself having not read so much more. 'There has to be a way to devour the whole stack' says my conscience and I always have to shut him by telling him 'its not about devouring them you idiot, you need time to digest too!!!'. With an air of heedlessness, my conscience says 'oh well' and continues biting me from the inside...
Last night I got hold of one book from the shelf (that has gotten messier than before!) and started flipping the pages. Somewhere near the first quarter, my eyes glued to the page and I began reading. Surprisingly I had kept the book in the pile of incomprehensible(s)! But now each and every word sank in, as if their beloved was dying to reach out for them only!
I am reading .......?
