Ok Fine, I’ll Make One Of These Too

my tumblr isn't even a blog, it's just a hideous amalgamation of all my hyperfixations from the last decade.

I’ll have enough books when they fill my room like the stars fill the sky.

E.V. Fairfall (via bookaddict24-7)

approximation does not sound like what it means and it makes me angry

like, it sounds like it should mean something like precise

but it doesn’t

it’s a deceiver

I like how the only times I go on tumblr is to recover from books that mentally destroyed me

gonna start decomposing soon for so many reasons

reblog to decompose

you know you want to

I'm once again fighting the urge to fake my death and move to a small city and open a little florist shop or cafe filled with books

learning multiple different languages just for the sake of trying to lay my thoughts bare

why do all the words sound heavier in my native language? scratch that. why did I choose to seek refuge in a language of another instead of training my tongue to bear the heaviness of my own?

I just want to be a little hobbit living daily life in the golden days of the Shire. Newly plucked flowers decorating my curly hair, picking vegetables from the garden to place in my basket, a fresh, warm pie cooling on the counter, and wandering the hillsides in my bare feet…what a dream that would be…

obsessed with mass market paperbacks. their pleasing rectangular proportions. how they fit badly in a hoodie pocket so you can drag them around everywhere with you like a temporary little buddy. the way they fit in your hand because they're MADE for human hands and not as bookshelf decoration. the way the pages feel when you riffle them gently with your thumb. How pristine and crisp they look when you get them and how creased and folded they look when you're done, even if you try to be nice to them. how that wear is okay, how that's correct actually, because they're made with the philosophy that books aren't meant to be PRETTY, they're meant to be read. that little ripple new ones get on the left side from where you hold them when you're reading, the way the ripple only goes as far as you've read, because u change stories by reading as they are changing you. how you can find thousands of these creased and folded and loved little dudes in every thrift store and used book shop and neighborhood library and you can instantly see the ones that someone carried around in a backpack for weeks or read to pieces or gave up on halfway through because they wear being read like fresh snow wears footprints. I love these poorly made, subpar little rectangles so much. truly the people's books.

Bruh there's something comforting in knowing that no matter what I do or where I am, some part of me is always back here or back there with those characters and those stories that changed me, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in fundamental ways. And I know it's not real, but it's nice to imagine, to feel, that no matter what's going on with me, somewhere out there teenage boys in armor are chasing things that go bump in the night and two kids are experiencing a love story on the streets of New York and princesses and kings are sleeping underground while a group of friends are becoming family, orange cars are driving the streets, Spiderman is off to school, horses are being raised and raced by another love story on a faraway Celtic isle, and adventures are happening even if I'm not there to see them. But man is my heart out there with them