When I read this piece for the fourth and fifth time, I really got it.
SoccerLover did a great job picking something that I could really connect to. She picked a representation of life through books that I find tantalizingly fulfilling. It did leave me with a few questions, though.
- What do I think about it?
- What does it mean to me?
- Do I think this metaphor for a book is accurate or could I come up with a better one?
Ultimately, I decided to take the challenge that I thought that this post represented.
You read A Book.
Its words are an inviting whisper, a nearly unspoken calling of laughter and thought. This playful friend beckons you to get lost, without a worry for finding your way back. It is Pan and his flute. It is the harmless apple in the Garden. It is a million possibilities that never really narrow down because they always reach the furthest recesses of your mind. It is the beautiful dancer that hypnotizes you until you forget that you are watching anything, you are such a part of the moment. It is the playmate that leaves you at the bottom of the gorge, with only your wits as defense. It is the bug that crawls in your ear just before you sleep and won’t let you forget that it is there, for the buzzing. It is a hopeless cause of remembrance on every page, the whole of yourself mirrored back to you, disfigured yet satisfying.