A Love Letter to Books

Dear Books,

This is my love letter to you. An earnest lover’s love expressed through words. The words that you and I understand and know the best. I will try not to make it sentimental. I will try not to get overwhelmed. I will try not to stain the page with my tears of joy, because come on, you and I know how important your existence is to me.

You have been there in my life since I knew how to read and thank god for that. Some people do not understand you and they are such fools that I don’t even bother interacting with them. There are others who write you and yet haven’t read the best of what you have to offer. You are hidden sometimes – waiting to be found in that pile on the wall, in that library shelf, in the section of the bookstore that no one goes to and yet when they find you, they are overjoyed. That is your charm. I guess that is the reason of your existence – to spread happiness through words and their meanings and emotions.

Books, you know you have been there throughout, right? If not, then you should be made aware. You have been there all the time – through the good times, through the worst of them and sometimes in-between. I cannot begin to thank you and how for making life a lot bearable. If it weren’t for you, then it would be a dull life for sure. In fact, let me go a step ahead and say that maybe it wouldn’t be worth living.

You guys know it all. You are precious to me. I love you more than anything else in the world and I hope you know that by now. You have to. People say I am boring. They say that I do not party or get out much often. But well, I have you. So I guess it is enough or so it seems for now. The love-affair is peaceful. There are no expectations from me, but besides the fact that I read. You guys have the capacity to lure me, entice me, do the word-dance and I am all yours for the night.

I said I would not get sentimental but that seems a little difficult, given that it’s you I am talking about. How can I not get sentimental? How can I not think of all the times I have spent with you and more times to come and expect not have the lump in my throat? I cannot. I am human after all.

Books, you have made this world easy to tolerate. You have taken me places and brought me back in the comfort of my spot in my room. You make me dream of stories I read in you. You make me wonder and question and open my mind through your writers’ thoughts. You do that and much more. I could never get enough and maybe this letter is not worthy of your praise. I could go on and mumble about how much I love you. But then this is enough for now. The message is clear.

A Reader.


2 thoughts on “A Love Letter to Books

  1. parrish lantern

    Thank you, for your heartfelt letter you are what I consider an ideal reader. I’m basing my opinion on Alberto Manguel’s definition …
    The ideal Reader is The Writer just before the words come together on the page.

    Ideal Readers do not reconstruct a story: they re-create it.

    The ideal Reader is the translator, able to follow to dissect the text, peel back the skin, slice down the marrow, follow each artery and each vein, and then set on its feet a whole new sentient being.

    The ideal Reader is not a taxidermist.

    Ideal Readers do not follow a story; they partake of it.

    The ideal Reader never exhausts the books geography.

    The marquis de Sade: “I only write for those capable of understanding me, and these will read me with no danger”—- The Marquis de Sade is wrong: The Ideal Reader is always in danger.

    Reading a book from centuries ago,
    The ideal Reader feels immortal.

    Pinochet who banned Don Quixote because he thought it advocated civil disobedience, was that books Ideal Reader.

    The Ideal Reader is capable of falling in love with one of the book’s characters

    Now that you”ve openly confessed this burning love, I hope we will continue to meet in all those open & clandestine places as before & continue this relationship in all its myriad forms. I will not say goodbye just merely until..



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