Books are my everything. They are the light in my eyes, the stars in my sky, the ground under my feet, the letters in my words and the words in my phrases. They are my world, but that means the good and the bad. They are also the cracks in my heart, the cobwebs in my mind and the salt in my tears. For me, they are everything that is good in the world, and everything that is not. Books help me escape the sadness that is my reality, the bleakness that is my everyday world. I dive into them, drinking up the words on the pages like a man desperate for water. I fall in love with their worlds, with those beautiful, funny, kind, complex characters whose eyes I am blessed to see through. I relish in their thoughts, and walk side by side with them on dashing, daring adventures and heart-stopping rebellions, I turn each page hungrily, wanting more, more, more. Never wanting to leave this new home I have found. But every book must end, and with it a tiny, itty bity fragment of my heart and soul, until one day I fear that their will be nothing left of me, that I will be scattered along the words of those most beloved to me. There are worst fates, I must admit. I want to jump through their portals, run through their grass, cast their magic, and learn their spells. My heart is bursting with them, with the endless knowledge, wisdon, love, and pain they have given me. It is a heavy burden to carry, but they are also the only ones who can lighten it. Maybe one day I will find something to love more, realize that the pain is not worth it, but until then... Just one more chapter.