I could lose myself here.
Among these shelves, among these covers.
I have never felt more at home anywhere else than I have in the presence of books.
There’s something about them that I can’t quite pinpoint, something inexplicable that draws me to them. The enticing smell of paper, the roughness and softness of the pages – I don’t know what it is, but I am irrevocably obsessed.
Perhaps it is the words that really draw me in, the beauty in the way that they’re strung together, the boldness of the font. Or perhaps it is the meanings behind them, sometimes hidden, sometimes brazenly displayed for all readers to digest.
It’s a comforting atmosphere, unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced. Stepping into a room full of books feels like I’m venturing into an entirely new reality, the comforting warmth of possibilities wrapping around my arms and banishing the goosebumps from my skin. I do not worry here, I do not stress. I do not care about school or about dating or about any of my other personal struggles, because they do not matter here.
The books do not care.
They are here to be my escape.
I open one, and I am thrown into a whole new world. It could be a close variation of this one, or it could be an entirely new conception with creatures and objects that could never exist on the same plane as I. No matter what, it’s fascinating, every single time. I learn something new with every turn of a page, a stroke to my soul that remains branded there for as long as I live.
I have seen love like no other, beauty that is inconceivable to the unfortunate souls that do not drown in books in their spare time. My heart, already incapable of holding all the powerful emotions raging within, grows and changes and feels along with each of the characters it meets as they go through misery, excitement, heartbreak, rage. It is painful at times, I will admit, but there is also something absolutely glorious about falling in love with new people and new societies and new friendships and relationships with each book I pick up. I would not trade it for the world. It is the most precious thing to me.
It’s why I love to write, why I want to write something one day for the whole world to see. If I could make even one person feel the way I have felt after putting down one of the most captivating books of my life, then my purpose in life has been fulfilled. I will not need anything else.
I still have a long way to go before I get to do that.
But in the meantime, I am here, immersed in the world of stories, completely at home. My only true home. The home that I cherish the most, and the one that I know no one will ever love in the same way that I do.