oh my god, like, how do i write a letter to you, books? how can i begin to write a letter to you?
books, you have been my saviors. really. you have been my religion. you have been my entertainment. you have been my calm, my dreams, my worries, my education.
books, i am not sure when we were first acquainted. people say i learned how to read when i was super young--but i don't know. i just remember always having a book.
and i mean always having a book. so much so that my father said maybe i read too much when i was sixteen.
like someone can read too much...
i may have bought approximately 30 books that i cannot read until this summer over the last three months.
i don't know.
don't quote me.
i read oprah's book club books in the sixth grade, much to the dismay of my sixth grade teacher. i also read the courtship of princess leia then and my love of star wars still continues.
i used to try to read 30-50 books in the summer. i'd write them down and keep track of them...not unlike what i've been doing here. i'd devour them like food. it didn't matter if i was at camp, or in a theater program, or writing a novel at the same time. in fact the best summer was when i was doing two of those things and reading. reading, reading, reading.
when my ex and i dated the first time, his dad and i would email about books. it was one of the things i missed most when we broke up that time. does anyone want to email me about books that are not plays because i have to read and talk about plays all the time, but i miss talking about novels and poetry and memoirs and those academic books i hate sometimes?
books can bring you closer, or push you apart.
that time, in the aftermath of that first heartbreak, i found books again despite writing my thesis for my master's. i read and read and read when i didn't sleep or didn't eat or didn't talk to people. when it happened again this time, when words and books rescued me again this time, i wasn't surprised. i welcomed them back. i welcomed the words who seem to always save me rather than hurt me. although there have been some books that have hurt me.
don't ask me about my favorite books. what does favorite even mean? i'll give you a list of maybe 50 that maybe could be considered favorites. maybe.
probably not actually.
i have cursed you books. every time i've had to move. every time.
for a long time, i wouldn't give any books away. i've started too...mostly because i am running out of space for you. you are in almost every room and there are piles of you without a home.
and i've come to terms with the fact that not all books are worthy of being kept.
like the ones i've read on a kindle...though, to be honest, most of those i should buy in paperback form because they deserve to be in the house.
this may be why i'll dream of living in a tiny house but never could.
bookstores are my safe places. they are my refuge. they are where i am when i can't imagine being anyplace else. because i am surrounded by you, books. because i can make a fort out of your themes and words and live in it warm, and happy.
i want my work to be in a bookstore so someone can discover and pull it down and read it and maybe get that tickle in their chest that i get when reading something that touches me. i want to publish my novel and write a new one, i want my book of poems to be there too, and one day, an anthology of my plays. a memoir would be cool too. and perhaps a book on the black female body.
i want all the genres.
i want that because you have always been what i aspire to. you have been my heroes.
there is something to be said about that. the book, the words, they are left to be interpreted. they are there, in black and white often, but also filled with the gray. but they don't change. not like people who change and waffle and hurt and love and whatever else. while my interpretation may change, you, books, you stay the same. you, books, are safer. you allow me my imagination in a way no person can.
books, i love you. i'd marry you if i could.
(this is day six of april love)