There is just something about a “real” book. I like my Nook and the iPad is cool but really when I read I want a book.
I want a cover and spine pages to turn and someplace to place a book mark or dog ear a corner. I like the smell of a new book and the feel of it in my hands.
I like taking it into the tub with me or out in the hammock.
I want to feel the brittle or soft pages (depending on its age) between my fingers as I flip through them, and use it to fan my face if it is hot.
I want someplace to jot a note if there is something I want to remember and words to highlight that touch my soul.
I like the way a stack of books look sitting next to my bed or on my nightstand. I like having them line my bookshelf. I want to be able to run my hand along their spine until I find what I am looking for, and keep them forever because something in them has touched me.
And when I glance their way, or pass them in the hallway a smile flits across my face at the memory of what they gave me in their words.
I love books. I love what they bring to my life, and what they make me think and feel.