A box of old books.

From the moment I stepped into the box of old books, I was transported to a love of so much more.

It’s not uncommon for bookworms to express how books are portals to other worlds. For most I assume, it’s this attraction to escapism that keeps them reading. We make friends for life this way and even fall in love. Friends embodied by the mind and by the word. Which is why, picking up those old books and running my fingers over the delicate pages, I could feel the weight of a life. A sense of transportation runs each weathered spine, like opening the cover will automatically bring an abducting beam. Even without reading the words, take a breath of air from the pages and a nostalgia hits you. It’s the exact smell of my Nanny’s house – a place I can only visit with imagination, just like these stories.

With each return from a fictional world, I am brought closer to reality. And it looks just a little brighter.

How amazing is that?

One thought on “A box of old books.

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