Dear Place

Time is frozen between the words on your page. When I read you, I can choose to live in the past, I can talk to unreal people, or sometimes I can choose not to exist at all. When I read you, I don't have to talk, or even listen. I can immerse myself in another world (even if it only lasts for a few sentences). My mind is loud, always buzzing with stress, conversation, memories and ideas. But with you, my mind can be quiet.

When people call me a bookworm, they don't always mean it as a compliment. I used to feel embarrassed by such comments, but now, I feel sorry for them. Because not only do they miss out on a story, they miss out on an experience. No matter what I'm thinking or feeling, I just have to crack open your spine and read you again. I mean, I'm sure you agree, that few things compare to a book!

Love,

Jeanine