My Love Of Reading

I turned to the last page of my most recent read. I could feel the soft paper as I traced the words that would end the novel. I breathed in deeply smelling the musty, sharp scent of the ink and paper of the book. Sighing the last words on the paper, I finished and closed the book. Setting aside the book, I closed my eyes and simply sat there letting the ending to the story sink in.
I didn’t always love reading. As a child I found reading to be very boring. I felt as if there were more important things to do than read. I’d rather spend my time outside running in the lush green grass, feeling the individual blades between my tiny toes. Life was small back then. In elementary school being able to read was important. Actually enjoying reading wasn’t; I guess that’s where my dislike for reading formed.
It just never captured my attention. In the third grade I remember my teacher of the time asking who in the class enjoys reading, and why. All the children were wildly waving their hands in the air and jumping out of their small wooden stools. I remember the teachers beaming smile light up the room as the small children started screaming and belting out reasons why they liked to read. I also remember the smile falling from her face when she got to me. She asked me, “Do you like reading, Aysha?” I answered, “No, I hate it. It’s stupid and boring.” Then she said something that at the time meant little to nothing to me, but I would later relies how right she was. She said, “No one hates to read, Aysha; they just haven’t found the right