It was a few doors down from Marshalls, right next to C.R Chicks. Sometimes after school, or on a slow weekend, my mom would take me and my siblings to the little bookstore just off PGA Boulevard. I don't really remember what books I picked out there, or what the name of the shop was- but I remember the smell.

Nothing like a Barnes and Noble, or a Books-a-Million, who always smelled like new books, crisp paper and coffee. No, this shop was always a bit stuffy, with dingy green carpet lit by slightly-faded fluorescent lighting. But there were books, so many books. Shelves upon shelves of all different types of books- children, young adult, romance, sci-fi, non-fiction, adventure. Some classics, some lesser-known authors, some old and some new.

My grandfather, a former school teacher, taught me to read as early as I can remember. We would sit in his home office in front of a white-paper easel, sounding out words like "cat," and "boat." My mom was always reading, as was my Nana. Simply put, I was surrounded by people who loved to read, and it made me love reading too.

So when my mom took us to the bookstore, there was nothing more exciting. At first, it was the covers that would draw me in. When I got a little older, I became pickier and began to read the back, looking to compare possible adventures before even opening Chapter One. It was like being forced to pick a favorite toy, how could I choose just one?

It was one of the first moments of independence I can remember. Not choosing an outfit to wear, a movie to watch, or what I wanted to eat off the kid's menu, but walking into a bookstore and being told, "Okay, now go pick one."

At school, when the teacher called for reading time, I rushed to grab my new book from the cubbies. It was my treasure; one I discovered myself. It was an adventure for my eyes only, to play out in my mind as if I was there. It was just me and the story.

As the years went on and my reading level improved, so did technology. In the sixth grade, I got my first Sony Reader. Now I could have tens, maybe even hundreds of books at my fingertips. I could swipe page to page, no longer tearing pages or worrying about water or food stained covers or edges. I had to explain to my teachers, no, it's not a phone or a video game, it was a book (or really, lots of books).

But somewhere along the way, we stopped going to that little bookstore down by the Marshalls, next to C.R. Chicks. Life, and technology, got in the way. Between school and sports and studies and, eventually, Netflix, browsing the Sony Reader eBook Store, or Kindle or iBooks, wasn't enough anymore. It wasn't as important.

Now I realize, the story wasn't the only reason I fell in love with reading. It was the design of the front cover, the feel of turning physical pages, and building a collection of favorites on a bookshelf you could walk past every day, look at a title and remember what that story meant to you.

The bookstore on PGA was where the adventure started, from the moment you picked it off the shelf to the day you finished the final chapter. Browsing the internet is one thing, but browsing the bookstore is another.

Adventure is out there. It's somewhere on a shelf, dimly lit by fluorescent lighting and dingy green carpet. You just have to find it.