On Books

A glance at my bookshelf never fails to make me melancholic.

There are books that can save a life.

There are books that saved my life.

There are books that were my life.

There are books that inspire,

And there are books that tell you how to build futures.

There are the books with nothing at all,

[“Things Men Know About Women”]

And the ones filled with millennia of wisdom.

No matter how much I am cynical about the publishing industry (like any other, it has its faults), I can never disregard the monumental impact books have had on my life – and surely in the lives of others.

Books, can be merely a collection of words. It can be shapes of ink on paper, bound and glued.

But you and I know that books are much more than that.

I love my books. They may not hold all the answers to life – though I wish they did – but they immortalise ideas. Ideas thought of by people.

And so, the bookshelf, is a bastion of ideas. Ones that I have collected since I was a child.

I hope to keep the bookshelf (and its contents), while I build my bookshelf[ves] around the world.

As a traveller, books cannot follow me everywhere. But these books and I,

we will never be apart.

[Because] I carry them so close to my heart.

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