I like to read and all, but I have a friend who Loves Books.
Capital L, capital B. Loves. Books.
He’s a writer.
He said that it makes him happy knowing that there are too many books in the world for him to ever read them all. That he’ll get to the end of his life and there will still be books left that he hasn’t read.
I do not agree. I feel like this fact means that when I read a book and don’t like it I’ve made a mistake. For every book I read and dislike I’m missing out on the opportunity to have read 3 books that I loved and couldn’t put down.
But there’s something comforting to me in the idea that there are umpteen feelings in this world that I haven’t felt yet. That though it may take time, though the variety of the feelings until then may be muted, one day I will experience a feeling that is unlike any I’ve had. New.
Something vibrant and alive.
That’ll be so exciting.