"You are just a walking motif," he mused.
"If you only knew..." she thought to herself.
Books are a beautiful thing. Language, art, fiction, poetry, proses all strung together and bound for us to enjoy and learn from. If you are anything like me, walking into a room filled with books is an excitement unlike much else in this world. There is a mystery and restlessness to discover what lies behind each cover.
Authors and artists and specialists in all fields pour their hearts into writing and creating books. Some take years to finish. Some almost no one will read. Some seem to be read by everyone we meet. Indeed, there is something special about the books we keep in our homes and in our hearts.
So, here's the truth: I tear out the pages.
I understand this is really upsetting to people. But it's true. I rip out the pages. I shred them. I draw on and blackout the words. Again, if this is baffling to you, I totally understand your confusion.
But here's the thing: What happens when we finish these books? Maybe we loan them to a friend? Or give them away? Or put them on a bookshelf? And how many other people get to enjoy this exact book we spent so many hours with? Probably very few, if any, right?
So what if you pulled out your favorite pages, or images, or quotes and created something with them? Put it in a frame to tell a different story. Shred it and make a centerpiece. Build a new poem from the prose and mail it off to a friend or lover.
The truth is, if we just close the book and put it on the shelf, we hide everything great it taught us and every beautiful word we learned from. When we tear the pages out, it becomes something we can make our own and display for others to enjoy. It becomes a part of our hearts.
And that is always worth sharing.