Books...

Books. Glorious books. I love them. They smell good. They feel good. Fabulous people and wondrous places all contained within delicate pages, and covers of strength. Fighting all odds, for things that really matter. Flying off for adventures, that need to be had. Falling in love, when all hope seems lost. Those are the reasons my books are my most precious possessions. 

One day, I'll have an actual library. It will be lined wall to wall with bookshelves, which, in turn, will be packed to the brim with lovely books. There will be big, comfy, rocking chairs by a fireplace. The window (facing East, of coarse) with a seat in it's windowsill, so I can read when it's raining. I also see a few tables, so as to study the things I need and to hold the maps of old and 

distant places. There's, also, a globe in the corner, should my

 latest adventure be closer to home.

Books are my friends. They are who they are. 

Stories... Blessed stories...

This is TRULY how I feel when I'm in a book. It is also the reason I cry with every book I finish. I don't want them to go away. The people inside. They, quickly, become my people, and I hate when I have to leave them. It's not fair. Why can't I stay with them forever? *sigh* 

I also found this on my search for book images. People ask me why I'm in love with the good captain. This is a good explaniation, right here. I knew all this existed under that fabulous dress coat long ago. If you'll excuse me... I'm going to gaze upon it for awhile...

 Namarie melloneamin