Harrold's only companions were his books. He felt alive when he was reading. He learnt of joy, loss, sadness, sorrow, anger, and love from his books. It was so easy to lose himself in a book, to give himself to the illusion of life, and yet forget to live. It was easier, and less painful, to lose himself in a fantasy instead of facing the fact that he had lived an empty life. In many ways, just because something was fake, it didn't make it any less true, any less beautiful and powerful.
Enchanting Melodies (HP SI)
Book&Literature · athass_prkr
detail