What books do you want to read?
As a child, I believed books were alive.
Some slept quietly on shelves,
some waited restlessly to be opened,
and a few followed me
even after I shut them tight.
I read under tables, behind curtains,
in the lazy corners of afternoons.
I thought the sun slowed down for me,
and the moon stayed awake
just to see how the story ends.
I grew up, but that belief didn’t.
It only learned new words.
I want books that don’t behave.
That start in the middle,
end too soon,
and make me shout,
“One more page!”
Books where characters climb out of stories,
sit beside me,
steal my snacks,
and refuse to leave.
I want pages that smell like rain holidays,
sound like bicycle bells,
and feel like scraped knees
that somehow never hurt.
Give me suns that shine for no reason,
moons that listen without interrupting,
and stars that fall asleep
before finishing their lines.
I want stories that wander everywhere,
ponder silly things,
laugh loudly,
cry suddenly,
and forget why they started
just like we did.
Books that turn grown-ups into children again,
make time lose count,
and remind the heart
that magic was never lost
it was just waiting to be read. ✨
And maybe that’s why I still look for such books
not to escape life,
but to meet that little version of me
who believed stories could pause the sun,
wake the moon,
and make ordinary days
feel wonderfully endless. 🌙✨
Meeting my childhood between pages, under the same sky. ✨
