Ever since I was a little kid I loved being lost in imaginary worlds created by authors. A book was a temporarily escape from the ordinary world. Just for a while you could imagine that you were there at Hogwarts when Harry defeated the Basilisk or when Mathilda convinced her parents to let her be adopted by that sweet primary school teacher, Miss Honey.
It was not reality, it did not set place in what people call the real world. But that did not make it any less real for us, the children who loved to read. When I got older, the time to read slowly started to slip away. Secondary school and after that university became more important. And the pile of books I devoured became smaller and smaller. I still read. And sometimes I long for those special days when I read 2 books a day. But most times the feeling of nostalgia fades away when I pick up another book.