The pages are thick with the black letters. Corners folded; creases torn. They hold a story. A story written by an author far away, or one who no longer lingers on the ground of earth. Their heart poured into it, their mind stripped of ideas. All for one thing: the completion of a story.
The fond memories of being read to, those few moments before the covers were pulled up and the lights turn, out always come with a smile. Those times when, curled up in a blanket, I read deep into the night until my eyes could no longer stay open. And times when sneaking a few words before a shower was only to hold me off until I was out again, engulfed in the story.
Something about words fascinates me. Although words can often be a bother -- trying to remember the correct ones for a test or an essay -- I find them much more than that, though, but as a comfort. When those words are strung together in a story, those words hold so much more meaning. Seeing through the eyes of another person; meeting new people; seeing new things. Words reveal so much with so little.
And this is the reason I love stories so much. Because, for a moment, you are given the chance to be anyone and do anything, and it's like a rare magic only discovered by those who seek it.
what is your favorite book?