Your parents, friends, spouses or children are calling your name, and it finally gets through you. Once you’ve snapped out of your own world, you realize that they’ve been calling you for a long time now; and are probably losing all their patience, because, they do not get what you were just doing. That alternate universe, that fantasy land, that mode of escapism.
You hear them out and you know it’s something very important. You may have missed a couple of meals; you may have not slept for a couple of days, your hair disheveled, your clothes almost stinking, because you have, in the eye of your mind just killed the biggest monster evading your beloved motherland. Yet, the universe calls and you have to pause that world you’d rather live in.
You sigh, because you feel like somebody is ripping your soul apart. You have finished that page, that chapter you’d promised to stop at; and a couple more. You have to stop, so you somehow do, after hugging the book and smelling its page, not letting go of the feel of it. You put in it, to know how far you’ve reached, rather how much is left of that book you know you’re coming back to again, a bookmark. That bookmark, which is now the reason you’re alive. That one thing you are possessive about. You don’t want it to move, because honestly, your life depends on it.
Bookmarks. The heart, to the soul of your very existence.