Why I Can’t Say Goodbye to Books

 This isn’t a review. This isn’t a recommendation. This is about the one thing I cannot, will not, ever learn to do: say goodbye to books.

For me, every book is an escape—not from a bad life, not from pain, but from reality itself. The moment I open a book, it stops being just words on a page. It becomes a part of me, woven into who I am. Once I’ve read it, I carry it with me. I can’t put it aside and move on as if it were just a pastime. It lingers, it lives inside me.

I am, quite simply, in love with books. Magically. Desperately. Intently. Sometimes willingly, sometimes unwillingly—but always, always in love. The smell of a fresh book is better than any drug. It’s intoxicating. It feels like a secret I was never supposed to find but now cannot live without.

And maybe it’s because I’m the kind of person who loves rain. There’s something about rain that feels like freedom. I can imagine myself sitting in the downpour, book open in my lap, water spilling across the pages. And then, with no reason at all, I’d get up and dance in the storm—heart beating, skin drenched, but soul alive. Books feel like that to me. They make me dance inside my own head.

This love of books isn’t about trauma or running away. It’s about stepping into other dimensions. If I had one wish, it would be this: to have the power to read a book a day. To consume every story in the romance genre—dark, fantasy, sci-fi, contemporary. All of them. Because every romance carries that one truth I crave: the feeling of being seen, protected, worshipped, loved. In those worlds, reality has no power over me. Reality cannot touch me.

When I read, it’s not about men, not about people around me—it’s about the way books make me feel. That flutter in my chest when a line hits too close, when the words feel like they were written for me. That heartbeat skipped because a character’s love feels so tangible it could shield me from the world outside. That’s what I can’t say goodbye to.

And then there are the playlists. The way some books come with songs, little soundtracks to the emotions written into their chapters. I put them on repeat, headphones in, and dive deep. Twelve hours. Fifteen. Eighteen. Until I close the final page with aching eyes and a full heart.

Books are my constant. They are not a hobby. They are a home.

So, if you’ve ever felt this way—if books are your escape, your addiction, your anchor—you belong here. Tremendously Chaotic is a space where you can stay anonymous, talk your heart out, and never apologize for being in love with words.

Because here, we don’t say goodbye to books. 

And if you’d like to be part of my journey beyond this blog, you can find me on YouTube, Pinterest, Wisio, and Tumblr. That’s where I share more pieces of myself—the chaos, the love, the stories, the aesthetics. Subscribe, follow, or simply drop by, and get to know me in ways that words alone could never capture.