Most of them read you like newspaper. Buying you cheaply and daily cramped among the soggy grocery items or knocked on the floor at their doorsteps. They handle you clumsily and browse through the pages. You lie limp in their hands, baring every detail, every part of you. They eye the most attractive parts of you, the glossy advertisements, the popping classifieds and the sensational news. You offer them everything, they take very little and give back nothing.
Many read you like a brochure, engulfing every little details. For a few minutes they give you their full attention and then throw you orphaned, lying on the roadside.
Some read you like their course book. Engulfing your knowledge like a honey bee extracts nectar. Then you again give everything that you have it in you. They keep you with them as long as you are required.
A few consume you like a story book, a novel. They will sit by the window with you in the lap, spend many a days in your arms. They may or may not cherish you. You may get a place of pride in their shelf but gather dust with time. Will they remember will be a vague story that you enwomb.
And only one will read you like a poerty, understand your hidden rhythm. That one will understand the ‘you’ hidden in those few lines, feel the meaning of every punctuation, your silences and the riddle that you are. Bruised by the world, you try to hide yourself within those few lines, verses. Those eyes see the real you, those ears hear the unsaid and those fingers touch the dewy chords of your heart. That one will not devour, consume or use you. That one will not extract anything from you but will become one with you, a part of you.
This is how they read you. So don’t let the one go. The one who reads you like a poetry.