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By Scott Richards
Books have patience. They never ask you “Where have you been?” “Who else have you been reading?” They humbly wait unconcerned that you’ve been away and now you’re back. They never question your literary motives, your loyalties, or your level of understanding. A book simply awaits your next desire to once again go down the road it leads you. And then very soon, it is like you never left at all.
Opening a new book is like possible love at first sight. In that first moment lies the promise of wonder, knowledge, or entertainment.
You can always count on a book to be there for you. They never change their words, or re-arrange the letters to be something their not. They will interminably hug your bookmark anchoring your last word and thought without complaint awaiting your next visit.
A book is a life unlived, a story untold, or a lesson unlearned. They can be nibbled at a bit at a time, or devoured in great avid gulps. It is all at your pace and leisure.
A book is your best friend at your worst times, always there for you and never demanding anything in return. Your level of comprehension, or appreciation never tested, never challenged. Silently waiting to instruct, amuse, induce euphoria, instigate tears, or gut you like a fish.
Books are as faithful as the dawn and loyal as the setting sun. Within their pages exists a place where meaning has no master and where personal interpretations are limitless. They are your words and your pages to feast on, or ignore at will. Truly what a thing a book is.