My life has holistically, in every other worldly sense been woven with books. People have hallucinations about loved ones, hysteria about losing the things they love, but I have premonitions about the next book to read. In whatever state of mind, I look towards a book to either end or extend a state of mind or a series of questions. The answer resides in the books I begin to read. Somewhere between the pages, I stumble across something I've long forgotten to live. The nostalgia of that particular moment back in time washes over me again with the same scents, smells and sights. Sometimes words just fail me, when I try to realize how books come to be so magically placed in my life. How the voice in my head unknowingly guides me to the next copy or title that is currently placed in these hands