I don’t think I could live without books.
And I’m not joking either.
The thought of having nothing to read is horrifying. I’m a self-confessed obsessed-bookworm. Absolutely addicted to books. I have to have something to read. Often multiple books at a time.
I think only another true book-lover understands the range of emotions that take place as you read. All the wonderful possibilities that lie ahead when you’re only a few pages into a book, the anguish when a beloved character is taken away, or the story comes to an end, the excitement when the characters cease to be a name on a page and become a friend, and when the words produce an entire world for you to explore.
I think my boyfriend, who claims to have only read a few books and doesn’t know the last time he voluntarily read a novel, thinks that I’m a bit crazy. Especially when it comes to Harry Potter. And maybe I am :-) But I can’t even begin to imagine how sad it would be if I couldn’t read another book.
I wish I knew how many books I’d read so far. Or how many times I had re-read books once I’ve lost count and the pages are creased and worn. I just think it would be interesting. Just to know the figure; to know how many hours up hours I have spent consuming the words of creative geniuses and turning their words into people and worlds that exist only in my imagination.
I want a house with a bookshelf like the one above.
I just discovered bookshelfporn.com. And I think I’m in love.