I like to live with books. I dog-ear pages, break spines, and write in my books. The pages are frequently so heavily written in that passages of the original text become unreadable. Coffee stains and water-damaged pages are a staple and occasionally entire sections are black out in paint-covered disagreements. As someone who loves order and perfection, this is an odd part of my personality. But I like to live with my books, and true living means things get messy sometimes.
I carry books with me wherever I go, especially if it is one that has caught my attention and resonates with my soul. In those cases, I can be found reading the book at all times: in line at the grocery store, sitting in my hammock, and even while cooking dinner. It becomes a part of me and I become a part of it. I get lost in the story.
Books have always been my escape, especially when everything else in my life becomes messy. Books and the appearance of my books are the one area of chaos I can handle because I know that in the mess, the stories never change. Alice still travels to wonderland, the Little Prince meets the fox under the apple tree, and Holden is still expelled from Pencey Prep. The stories are familiar and the characters are my friends.
So when life gets messy, as it is right now, I find that I lose myself in words more often, usually getting lost in the books I have read many times. Sitting in my beloved characters in the midst of their predictable chaos allows me to find the calm in my storm.
I like to live with books: dog-eared, broken spines, and coffee stained pages.