judge a book by its cover (or lack thereof).

The feel of the gritty paper against my fingertips, as I turn the page to a new experience, a new chapter, a new beginning.

This is what I enjoy in life. The kick of language twisting around in a whirlwind of images and emotions, on a simple slice of bark, bound by man’s ability to collate a novel.

By the fireplace – if I had one – I would sit, reading and letting myself fly away into a world that is different from my own, and as wild as a long, lost fairytale.

This is what I enjoyed in life. Soon to be abolished by the race of technology; a fight with the war of worlds – to find a better, a faster, a newer way to do what we already could do.

One day I will read new releases on a holographic image, floating before my aged eyes.

But still, like always, my favourites will bear true significance on its proper form; a whirlwind of images and emotions, bound and collected, to have physically in my palms.

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