It's disheartening to see how little I've read recently and how much my "To Read" list keeps growing, by the day. There are just so many great books out there that has already been published in so far past and has been continuously published with the ever changing technology, mitigating circumstances of people, societies, countries and the world in large. I feel lost in worlds and in a life long marathon I'll never be able to catch my breath.
All of these stories waiting to be read, to be reanalyzed, again and again, until someone comes to interpret it entirely differently so that our perspectives changes once more. And the stories we've read that leaves its traces in our soul, mapping out our reactions, our understanding and eventually when we turn the mirror to our inner worlds, how it changes us and how much it allows us to create a new thread to our own world, where we come to understand ourselves. Each book lights a new candle, illuminating a new world, a new sense, a new self and new emotions we never knew existed, or allowing us to finally communicate what it is that we've been feeling all this time. That's what cleverly crafted and well told stories do to us, individually and as large groups.
So my library looks at me, forlorn and looking forgotten, a little yellowed out, wondering their instability now, a future that looks no longer guaranteed in my little library.
All of these stories waiting to be read, to be reanalyzed, again and again, until someone comes to interpret it entirely differently so that our perspectives changes once more. And the stories we've read that leaves its traces in our soul, mapping out our reactions, our understanding and eventually when we turn the mirror to our inner worlds, how it changes us and how much it allows us to create a new thread to our own world, where we come to understand ourselves. Each book lights a new candle, illuminating a new world, a new sense, a new self and new emotions we never knew existed, or allowing us to finally communicate what it is that we've been feeling all this time. That's what cleverly crafted and well told stories do to us, individually and as large groups.
So my library looks at me, forlorn and looking forgotten, a little yellowed out, wondering their instability now, a future that looks no longer guaranteed in my little library.
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