Pages... my friends.

I love books... they are my sources of inspiration, my emergency exit to escape the sometimes harsh reality, my window to admire places I've never been, my companions wherever I am... my unconditional bestfriends.

I befriend hundreds of them. But the thing is, uh, I don't really take care of them. I don't have any assigned library for them nor a place to put them neatly. I just let them reside everywhere they want, whether it is under my bed, behind the table or the floor in my room.

They're living their own life.

I like the feeling when I find one of my lost books somewhere inside that mountain of bric-a-brac in my room. It's like finding an old friend. First thing I do is to embrace the scent of old book that I love so much, then I start to caress the cover amorously. Finally begins the intimate dialogue between the story and I, so much like an internal conversation in a language that we both only know. I am often surprised to find new things between the lines as the words flood my mind gently. And as I turn the pages, it's like palpating one's soul, renewing the long lost relationship and remembering the almost forgotten discussion we've had once.

Yes, for me, books are alive. That is something I found out ever since i started to comprehend them. They all have their own character, they breath between the pages, they sing you lullabies, they tell you stories and sometimes, they even teach you how to become the person you always want to be. They reflect our personality and before you know it, you all become one.

I feel sorry for those who don't like to read. To live without books it's like having a beautiful house without a single window.

And it's hard to truly appreciate life in a confined place.