The Sleeping Library
Books are strange things. Whenever I'm reading them, I feel wonderful. It's one of the greatest feelings in the world to immerse yourself in a story. It's a chance to escape the day-to-day life, to get lost in a fantastical world of imagination, a wondrous adventure. After picking up a book and reading through the first couple of pages, I often wonder why I'm not doing this more often.
But then, after a couple of weeks, the reading suddenly stops, caused by what could be any reason. A busy week at work without much free time. A holiday with friends or family, full of activities. A (short-lasting) new hobby that takes up all available hours. One or more days where books are pushed into the background. Out of sight, out of mind, seemingly building a wall between the books and me that is too high to climb.
Until a storm rages through my mind with winds that blow hard enough for that wall to crack. Strong enough that it creates little holes to peek through. And then, it turns out that the books are still there, just waiting to be picked up again.
It's a sleeping library, a place surrounded by high walls, full of books that need to be woken up before they can be read.
I just hope those walls will never get too big to break down.