I remember the very first time I touched a real one, one made for grown ups. I was about 6 or 7 and it felt like the biggest adventure of my life! It had a strange title and I spent several days with it! And it was a real adventure! I loved it, felt the need to talk about it, to start it all over again immediately. It had provoked so many emotions, so many pictures in my mind, that I wanted to live it again! At that moment, I knew I had become addicted!
I love them. I love them all! I cannot count how many have been part of my life! There are too many. But every single one has been special. Some have been by my side in difficult moments and have helped evading from problems, sometimes even helping finding solutions to issues. Others, in that special way that only inked pages can do, have inspired ideas, have created happiness, have made me angry, have made me smile, have made me dream. Some have even made me cry.
Holding the pages darkened with the words written by a genious, often ignorant of his own power to create so many emotions among his readers, is a pleasure I will exchange with no other. A book is filled with many emotions, ideas, stories, tales, poems, and many other things that touch the reader and never leave him. I cannot remember any stage of my life, any happy of bad memory, without connecting it to the book I was reading at that moment. Books tell life, books fill life, and maybe books are life as well.
And it will not surprise the readers of these lines that, in all my posts in this blog, there is an attempt, often failed, to create the same emotions in your hearts and minds. But if I fail, I keep in mind that I am not writing a book. I am only trying a pale copy of the real beautiful words that populate my life every day!