Books

I love books. I love the way they feel in my hands; the way the sharp cut pages brush against my fingers as I flip through them, the way they smell of ink and paper I love the character they have; for none of them are the same. The way they are made is perfect for every human being. They are easy to carry in the crook of your arm, on top of your head, in your lap an so on. They seem to be made for cuddling with, for sleeping with, for stacking things with, they are the perfect companions for a long day alone. They don’t talk back or make you do things, they just tell you stories with rich enticing words.

Have you ever felt that when you open a book, beautiful and wonderful words and worlds and people come spilling out? Or perhaps when you open a book the rest of the world melts away leaving you in the world that the book holds within? Its as if the book is casting a spell over you, and holding you in. I love it.