I devour pages. I underline them and dog-ear my books. Awful, yet not so much. I want to be as much a part of these books as they are a part of me, for every page is a new adventure, and I've traveled the world a thousand times around under the yellowish light of my bedside lamp.
And I can only wish the same for my books. Shy and cuddled against each other in the depth of my drawers, they long for nothing more than to be dog eared and underlined, to grow and be part of an audience, to nurture foreign, hungry, imaginations. Like a mother taking her children to school, I wish I will be able to see them do just that.