You start off slow. The story is beginning to unfold. You’re unsure. It’s a big commitment lugging this tome around. Maybe this book won’t be that great but you’ll feel guilty about putting it down. Maybe it’ll be so awful you’ll keep hate-reading or just set it down immediately and never pick it up again. Or maybe you’ll come back to it some night, drunk or lonely — needing something to fill the time, but it won’t be any better than it was when you first started reading it.
Maybe you’re worn out. You’ve read tons of books before. Some were just light weights on a Kindle or Nook, no big deal really. Others were Infinite Jest-style burdens, heavy on your back or in your purse. Weighing you down all the time. Maybe you’ve taken some time off from reading because the last few books you read just weren’t worth it. Do they even write new, great works of literature anymore? Maybe that time you fell in love with a book before will just never happen for you again. Maybe it’s a once in a lifetime feeling and you’re never gonna find it again.
Or something exciting could happen. Maybe this will become your new favorite book. That’s always a possibility right? That’s the beauty of risk. The reward could actually be worth it. You invest your time and your brain power in the words and what you get back is empathy and a new understanding and pure wonder.
How could someone possibly know you like this? Some stranger, some author, some character. It’s like they’re seeing inside your soul. This book existed inside some book store, on a shelf, maybe handled by other people and really it was just waiting for you to pick it up and crack the spine. It was waiting to speak to you. To say, “You are not alone.”
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