"A book is a dream you hold in your hands."
Neil Gaiman
I have been a proud library card holder since third grade. Imagine my delight in discovering a city building packed with books that I not only could have access to, but in addition, could bring them home ... for days! Overly grateful, I would check out books stacked together, later realizing that a reader could pick and choose. Thank goodness for kind librarians who eventually realized my hauntings of the library aisles were sincere.
Understanding what kind of books I enjoyed, I was guided by these librarians which kept my pace moving constructively farther than I would have ever gone by my own searching. Worlds were opened before me which fed my imagination and allowed awareness of true hardship and dismal living.
As life proceeded, I found myself in college libraries with interests expanding. Non-fiction provided as much mystery and speculation as fiction, if not more. My mind remained a sponge absorbing documents I didn't truly understand and poetry leading me to the depths of my soul. My spine became the binding to the book that I am. And yes, there is still joy in holding a book in my hand, stiff spine, touching worn pages, and inhaling that old familiar book smell.
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