I’m crazy about them. So crazy that I actually make lists of books I’ve read, need to read, need to reread, and am currently reading. Sometimes people laugh it off when I say I want to live in a book store, and sometimes, the best times, they agree with me. I’ve always wanted a castle, immature, childish, and almost unattainable, I know, but I want one. Not for the fantasy or the faerie tale, but for the library. Have you ever once seen a castle without a beautiful library? Me neither.
So there it is, my completely childish and uncharacteristic dream, to own a freaking CASTLE. This is my quirk, the thing people see and make up their conclusions about. No body ACTUALLY wants a castle, they just say they do.
I’m supposed to be the mature one. The one who has it all together, and can make anything work. I’m supposed to be smart, witty even, so forgive me my lapse. It’s my own fault really, I’ve perpetuated this entire persona of mine to the point where I don’t know where I end and she begins. There was always something expected of me, something I was supposed to be. I’m afraid I can’t live up to the hype.
It doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. I always thought I had to be a certain way or no one would care. I found out quickly just how TRUE that was, but I’m okay with being me. Nobody else matters, because they don’t really care. They’re just there to make sure you care about something.
Books never judge you, and you can’t ever judge them. If you hate on a book without ever having read it you’re called ignorant and childish, without a leg to stand on. However we can judge people without ever having met them, we can tear them a new one everyday, and others will hang on to your every word, even praise you.
I love books, so much that I decided to write one. A good one that you would have to read before you can judge. Books are respected, because it’s the writer baring their soul and giving the world a gift. Books are amazing.