Chapter II: Who I fear to be

After some years the unanswered question of "who am I?" keeps pumping. Everyday it seems that the frequency of this question on my mind is increasing. One day I said: "well since I still wonder who am I, I declare that from now on I will find the way to answer this question"...What a big mistake.

I could never imagine what would happen after that decision. I had to deal with hidden memories, memories that, as many of you can guess, had very good reason to be hidden. This explains why is call an unanswered question, and I will admit that who ever declare it a rhetoric question was on the right path, because it gets messy, really messy, totally mess up.

The first thing that happened, and this was the last of my problems, is that I had to ask around. People were kin to say something about me, I got tons of so call "perspectives of myself".Some I couldn't believe, who can a book Like Me be a horror book?. Other answer were a bit out of the reality... Me being a fairy tale? That's nice to say, but a bit too much of a lie.

Things got worst after that first stage.I had to start thinking about all this ideas, and there was when I face the most horrible moment of my life. I am who I fear to be. When I say to the world I humble, I'm not, deep inside me I want to be the prettiest book, the most read novel, a bestseller. Who can I be so conceited and not even admit it to myself?

But that's just a small sample of all those things I found about who I am. There were few book around me that actually knew those little dirty secret about me. When they told me, I said "No way, that's not me", now I have to say they were right... But I didn't know it was true, and now I can't simply go out and say: "Hey this is me, I'm a porno book, with few pages where I impulse people to actually feel anger and envy towards other".

Come on! Let's be honest, I would lose all the friends I made before by telling my story. I mean, at the end this "features" of me are really deep inside, so they aren't really me, are they?. Anyway lets just keep them as a secret, there is no need to share it with anyone, and most important of all lets put it back to their hidden place so I don't have to see them again.

Chapter I: I am

I am an open book. Hidden on the back of the shelves, waiting for someone to have the will to read me. I snick around the other books, hide behind them, and often doing that I push them forward and make them be more visible. I'm the force on the back, the impulse that is not notice.

I wonder if I really don't want to be seen, or I'm just to scare of showing myself. Meantime I'm just there behind thousand of books, reading them from time to time. I have to admit I learn a lot of interesting things not just by reading but also watching from the small hole in the corner, how some book are read with passion and other with disgusts.

I don't know what is my content, is quite hard to read myself, not just for the uncomfortable position I need to engaged but also for the fear of what I might have to read. Some people had read me, and said I am a novel, full of stories and some sorrows. I try to believe them, even if is hard to think that a novel would look like me.

I've seen books that are novels, they are thicker, with strong covers and with fancy letter. How could I be a novel? if does famous ones doesn't look like me. Maybe does who read me, doesn't know anything about book. Or maybe there are more types of novel in this world.