I love books. Throughout my life I have
read so many different kinds of books. Some of them I've merely flipped
through and then tossed aside. I don't even remember the names of the
authors or the content of the stories. Some of them I've read thoroughly
yet quickly, to be remembered fondly later, often as a valuable lesson.
Some books are so long and intense (like Harry Potter 4-7) that I feel
like I have to read them in their entirety in a single sitting because I
fucking have to know the ending, until I am wrecked, destroyed, sobbing
on the floor, vowing to never read another book again.
Recently I've discovered a new kind of
book. It's a bit tattered around the edges but its binding is still
strong. Parts of it are written in different languages that I can't read
and don't understand. Some of its words are so familiar it's as if they
were taken from a book about me. As tempting as it is to skim through
it, or get so wrapped up in it that it destroys me, I'm reading it
slowly, sometimes only one word at a time. I want to savor every word,
even the ones I don't understand, even if I never get to the end. Each
word reveals part of the story, and this is a story I want to know, a
story that becomes more beautiful with each word.
