I want to get lost in a book.
No. I mean a good book.
The kind that makes you come up for air to you realize two hours have passed and you’ve been breathing something foreign to your everyday world. One of those that swallow you whole from the first sentence. A sentence that has reverberated in wandering minds for years; that you’ll cleverly find ways to insert into conversations because you know it makes you seem… well-read.
I want to find myself in a story. One penned and perfected long before I existed. A story that tells the human condition so accurately that it doesn’t matter who I am, where I am, I feel it so completely I know the next line.
I want to hear the sound only old and yellowing pages can make. I want to feel their roughness on my fingertips, see their faded ink on my hands, fill my nostrils with their musky scent, and, if only for just one afternoon, be with those braver than I.
*this post was inspired by Lois and Michael, two authors I met this week, doing what I am still too afraid to do – write.
~that’s life… in no particular order