How is it that you can you house such possibilities, such adventure, and offer such escape within your pages?
You are piled in stacks in unsuspecting corners all over my home, but I struggle to let you go once I finish.
How I can feel such reverence in my heart and have such attachment to the beauty of your words?
My life could be simpler, more minimalistic, if I was able to release you from my captivity.
You deserve to be treasured, to be handled, to be loved with reckless abandon, to be passed on to others who long to be transported by your magic. I adore you with furled pages and notes scrawled along your margins, I think that's how you feel most loved <3