I adore books📚 i rly do...maybe a little too much. Not the self-improvement kind, but the ones that pull you into worlds painted in magic and wonder, where emotions are deeper, love is grander,🧚‍♂️and every moment feels like poetry. And maybe that’s the problem😰… Reality just doesn’t shine as brightly in comparison. Real men? They don’t stand a chance against the charm of fictional ones...the brooding stares, the poetic confessions, the slow-burn romance ❤️that feels like fate itself is at play. I know it sounds ridiculous, but when books make life feel so beautifully limitless, how am I supposed to settle for anything less?