I found this sign at the cafe where I usually go to write. I really like the idea that books have a life of their own, and that the stories within them play out even when I’m not reading them.
I like the idea, but I’m not really believing it. I’d like to, because it’s a really nice thought – at least for good stories. Then again, I do have a hard time throwing away, or selling, my books even after I’ve read them.
It’s the memories I guess. Seeing a book I’ve enjoyed brings a little bit of the story back to me and I feel that enjoyment and connection to it again. I guess in that way, there really is life in books, but it’s the life that I bring them as the one who took part of the story they tell.
So, yes, maybe there’s life in books, but I don’t think they’ll die, but surely they can bring their joy to others. Maybe I should bring some books here. I could do with the shelf-space at home, and my books could do with being read again.
Maybe I’m just ranting, when I should be writing – editing.
Also, it’s raining again.