Books.
I have always been fascinated by books, and by those who write them. I have always been enthralled with words, and their powerful effect on the human heart and mind. I have lived a thousand lives, enraptured by the journeys of countless other souls, confined within the tattered covers of old, musty, yellowed, lined pages of these silent yet potent partners of my mind. Books.
Some people collect coins; others, stamps; still others, shoes; I collect words, and books. They calm me, they entice me, they stir in me thoughts that may have long since been forgotten or plant in me new ones, that grow as I read more; they challenge what I believe I know, they draw a world or several worlds that seem to complement or question each other. They open up to me the lives of those who appear fascinating to humanity; those who create a world of their own by just being who they are; those who affect the world so deeply that the very fabric of society and life remains changed forever .Books.
They bring to light the nuances of human emotion; they capture so beautifully, the ebbs and flows of one’s heart; they instill in me a desire to be better because someone used the very words that could stir in me tremendous change. I have to admit, most of the changes that I have made in my life have been as a result of the written word, that has led me down a ponderous path, weighing feeling over logic, understanding my place in this world, and connecting me to the fiber of my being. Books.
I will read till I cannot read any more, and that will only be when I am dead.
