The smell of a second hand book is my favourite thing in the world. The scent of nature, life, intellect and love. Holding the pages in my fingers, slowly letting them free, feeling the air brush through them like a journey from life to death. Like the touch of a mother, so comforting.
I would often wonder why people were afraid to fall in love. I would think on that when I was reading, writing, playing, sleeping and loving, all of the most important tasks. I lay down, holding the book against my chest, pressing it toward me, like a hug. I could feel my heart beat through the pages, to the other side caressing my waiting hand. It was as important as breathing.
I wondered whose heart may have beat through this book before my own and if it had made them feel more alive than ever.
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