OMG, is it possible that I can love books so much?? Or is it the beautiful ugly process of sharing the human experience using the medium of language, that I love so much? The smell? The reaction? The identification? The healing? The sense of belonging, common ground, de-alienation within, the connection? The courage it took to go through the experience and share - the process of the author? The trust and vulnerability of truth?
What do you think?
