They were signs that proved I’d loved each and every one of my books to the fullest.īut then life happened and my free time disappeared. Most of all, I loved the way books looked after I finished reading them: the creases down their spines and the stains left behind by spilled drinks, and the way the pages inside got all swollen and dog-eared along the way. I’d do whatever it took to make it through just one more chapter. I didn’t care how ridiculous I looked (but spoiler, I knew I looked ridiculous). Inspired by this little scene in Beauty and the Beast, I even figured out how to walk and read at the same time and narrowly-miraculously-managed to avoid tripping and falling each time. If there was a paperback or hardcover that caught my eye, I didn’t just read it, I devoured it. Growing up, I was always the kid with her nose stuck in the middle of one. I don’t really remember what my life was like before books.
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