my world exploded
not into a million little pieces
but into great shards of excitement, fear, pain, stress, disbelief, and love
and I find myself thinking:
has my luck ran out?
is this explosion the beginning of the end?
has the precarious balance of my life
or is this another awe-inducing moment
that lends itself to a happy ending
of a book that will never be written
but probably should?
Time no longer passes.
I use my time,
I experience my time,
I feel my time.
I might feel like I’m drowning.
but breaths I catch when I pull myself to the surface,
fill my lungs with the sweetest air
that I will ever taste.
I’m not living to write a book about my life.
but my thirst for experience is creating a life
that a book could be written about.
And I feel proud.
I love real, paper back books. I love holding them, I love the feeling of them, I love folding down the corners of pages to remind myself of a really great passage, I love writing in them. . .
I get it.
I love real books.
But I’ve always thought the electronic book hate opinion to be pretentious. Kindles and such are so amazing; the quality of the story is not affected and you can bring so many stories with you, anywhere in the world, easily. E-book hate is pretentious.
But today I picked up my worn out copy of LOTR Fellowship of the Ring and started my umpteenth reread of the novel
and I think I became pretentious.
I was reading it all day; started in the morning, continued on the train to school, then on the train back home. . . and nothing unusual hit me.
Then I drank a bunch of wine and champagne while watching the debate. After it was over, I continued reading, kinda tipsy, and the scent of the pages hit me.
Oh man, they smelt so good.
That musty, worn scent came over me and reminded me of all the times I had picked up my Lord of the Rings novels to escape what was going on in my real life. The emotions associated with the brilliant fantasy of the story but also, the emotions associated with the physical act of picking up my worn out Tolkien book, came right to the forefront of my soul.
I’ve lost/left behind so many books over the years, not worrying about it, knowing that the stories are out there for me to access whenever I please.
Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I’m growing up. Maybe I’m becoming pretentious. But personal, physical copies of books ARE THE BEST. end of story.