Books have always been an integral part of my life. On days I was bed ridden as a child, I found it liberating to be sucked into a world created by someone else, to be able to imagine that I was walking side by side with some of the best fictional characters I'd ever come across. To have a narrator who wanted to share their life with me, however make believe, was an escape too good to be true when all the people in the real world I could talk to were doctors and nurses.
Whatever has been going on in my life, however many days I can let go by without picking up a book or two, there's always one I'm working on, and the craving to ignore everyone and focus on the words inevitably comes back every time.
During primary school, world book day was always exciting for me. Despite having that kid in the class whose mother spent weeks on end making his costume (and inevitably won the costume contest each year), seeing where other people may got their literary inspiration from was something that always fascinated me. Even when I slipped out of character as Little Red Riding Hood or Bo Peep, the warm, complacent feeling of that day each year where special attention was given to books, where story time was extended, will remain with me forever. Now excuse me while I finish devouring some more words today.
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