(I’d written this on Facebook a few days back. But felt like I wanted to share this here as it is one of the instances that shows the depth of the relationship I have with books.)
One of those days when you once again feel like talking about books even if nobody wants to listen. I keep talking about how often the right book finds me at the right time. I think to some extent, it is like the Universe listening to our words and helping us. I had no plans of reading this book at this juncture. But thanks to that friend who showed me the amazing Kindle deal and thanks to the subconscious mind that got pulled towards The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah out of all the books I could choose from my wishlist.
No, what’s happening in the book might not have anything to do with my life or my world. But its understanding of emotions like loneliness, grief or fear feel so personal. Almost like an imaginary friend is speaking through it and caressing my head, whispering tender words of wisdom.
I’m not sure how to explain this feeling of being so intimately entwined to those words on the pages. How strange that those seemingly familiar permutation and combination of 26 letters can reach the deepest and most unexplored terrains of the mind, something that’d remain beyond the reach of any other soul–untouched and unloved, had it not been for those words.
I don’t want it to sound like a cliche but this is my life, after all. How can I not express the kind of love I receive from books and how they constantly and selflessly keep healing me and helping me live a little better, with a little more hope for the days to come?
(Image: A picture of me having woken up with little sleep after reading it for a couple of hours last night, poring into it the first thing in the morning to feel better.)