During my younger years, I was always different. I never quite could comprehend the delicate art of meeting and making new friends in elementary and middle school, so often times I would remain in my own company. I felt safer that way; there was no pressure of impressing my peers nor any pressure to change who I was. An introverted recluse comfortable in my own skin in constant pursuits of discovering a productive way to express myself.
My mother was always so supportive of my “latest attempts at finding myself” adventures. I’d like to think that was because she saw, in me, a part of herself that she had forgotten about so long ago. I would also like to think that is why she introduced me to my first book. I had never contemplated turning to books for comfort, I had always viewed them as pesky obligations to be completed for class lectures or essays. I never knew how poignant and impactful they could be if I gave them a chance. I was hesitant at first, not because I had a fear of reading, but because I had a fear of truly falling in love with it, fear of the unknown if you will. I will be forever grateful to my mom for giving me that first book because, since that moment, I slowly progressed to the person I was always meant to be.
My books hold my deepest secrets, they hold steady unto my most vulnerable moments; they are my greatest skin, my ultimate scapegoat, their presence has become a part of me. As my eyes peruse the last lines of a book, and I reluctantly close it knowing that this particular journey has ended - I grow a little sad, as if I have just lost a good friend. A friend whose presence remained despite my faults.
They know parts of myself I have yet to share with others.
They protect what I share; my thoughts merge with their withered pages and I know that each time I open them again, everything I gave will still be there.
Consistent and stable, always present.
In my books, the countless stories I lived, I found a loving peace. Though it may have been fleeting, the peace was there until the end, until my fingers caressed the last page in appreciation of what it had given me.
I have lived a thousand lives and they have taught me so much.
Find a friend who reads, there will never be a dull moment.
They rarely lack in creativity.
They often times teach you more about yourself than you once knew.
They allow you to exist without judgment and are willing to meet you where you.
They want to grow with you.
Books give the greatest gift of understanding, a trait most of us need more of.
To love books is to gain a deeper understanding of yourself and the world around us.
Learn to love to read.
Books that feed your soul, books that change you for the better, and books that are there when nothing else is. There is beauty in books, a beauty that will never fade.
