You knew it was coming, didn’t you? You knew I couldn’t possibly write very many of these weekly posts without talking about my love of books.
You were right. We’re there.
I’ve loved books as long as I can remember.
I’ve loved being read to since before I could read myself and as soon as I learned to read, I did. All the time.
I love the feeling of the pages.
I love the smell of a new book.
I love the smell of an old book.
Books are some of my best friends and definitely my best adventures.
I have bookcases groaning with books and boxes of them that are awaiting the purchase of more bookcases to hold them.
But my favorites? They are the ones that tell a story without even opening the cover and reading a word.
Their ruffled old pages with the perfect aged color, their weathered bindings and dog-eared corners.
I love finding inscriptions inside some of them or occasionally a flower or some other treasure pressed between the pages and wondering who placed it there and why.
I don’t care what the book is about when I find a beautiful old one. I often don’t read these particular ones. I make up my own story about them though.
And best of all, I use them all around my home, in every room, to make it feel wonderful and make it look beautiful.
Because these old books bring more “soul” and coziness to a room than a brand new book ever could.