Oh how I heart you, books!

No matter where I have lived in my life, the one consistent thread was that my space was always filled with books. I might even say overfilled, if I didn't firmly believe that one can never have too many books. When it comes to book stores, I have no self control and I don't limit myself to anyone section of the store. More than once I have had to declare a complete moratorium for fear that I would never manage to read all the books I already own, or, even worse, be found dead in my apartment after a stack of them toppled over, pinning me to the floor. Hopefully, one would land open before my eyes, so I could at least read a little while I faded away.

For a long time, one of my habits on trips was to purchase an old book at an antiquarian book shop every time I visited a new city. Somehow over the years I've grown out of this, but it seems a good pursuit to revive. While I love all books, there is something special about antique ones, because they not only allow you the pleasure of reading, but of wondering about all the hands, lives and stories the book has passed through before coming to you.

I'm one of those weirdos who truly believes that literature has value, that books have something important to say, and that writing is an art worthy of admiration. This is not to say that I don't read my share of fluff as well, but there is nothing better than a well written novel that I just can't put down or a piece of poetry or prose that invites me to think. I love the kinds of books that leave me considering them even after I've turned the final page. One of the best things about my life is that I actually have friends who already write such books and others whom I just know will one day!