It is a divine feeling to run your fingers down a book’s spine, and feel the engraved lettering of its title.
Many feel it is the work of idleness to wonder for hours through shelves filled with ink and paper. Alas! They do not understand! The authors filled each page with a little of themselves. Yes, it is indeed true. They sprinkle their stories, whether true or false, with their thoughts, feelings, and opinions; thus writing themselves into the story.
Yes, when I read about faraway places and once-upon-a-time’s, I read between the lines and find the author sitting there, telling me this story they dreamed up, along with their own. It’s a beautiful connection between writer and reader.
To read is not merely to sit and numb one’s mind. No, it is an expansion of one’s inner thoughts. Books, though, appear to be nothing but ink and paper, are in fact, windows into the minds of authors. Windows which lead us to view the world and people in a different light. Books? Yes, books. Books are a treasure we mustn’t ever lose. If lost, so would be civilization.
A Meraki Writer 