Rediscovering a Book

Rereading a book, and rediscovering that love you have for it, the love for those words, that story, was a great feeling. Indescribable. Few books leave you so silent, and stunned, so speechless at the how the words have formed on the page. You wonder, of course, how deeply the writer worked to make the words sound perfect, because you yourself know how hard that can be, and that's without the whole world following your tail, waiting for the outcome. Some people hated such writers, full of fame and fortune, but if you yourself did not, if you yourself read the stories and discovered them for yourself, delighted in them and cried over them and the characters within, than that alone mattered. That book alone meant something to you, those characters and that life gave you some happiness and what others think or say do not matter. Not if you know the impact it's had on your life.

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