Reading Is My Therapy

Little Miss “Reading is my therapy,” they say,

With a book in her hands, she escapes the day.

Each page a refuge, a world apart,

A haven for her tender heart.

She meets heroines with love so vast,

Who find their match and heal their past.

The words weave magic, dreams take flight,

But reality whispers through the night.

When the story fades and the lights grow dim,

She’s left with doubts that ache within.

“Will someone see me, as they see her?

Am I enough, in a world unsure?”

Tears stain the pillow, fears take hold,

A love like fiction feels too bold.

But, dear Miss “Therapy,” don’t despair,

Your story’s still unfolding—beyond compare.

For love in books may set a bar,

But life’s own script is where you are.

And somewhere out there, love will find,

A heart like yours, so rare, so kind.