You never see your loved one’s flaws. You fall in love too quickly, in a rush of delight at finding such a person, a burst of wonder that, in all this wide and fragile world, there exists a mind just like your own. Before long, they have settled down inside of you, in the vulnerable parts of your chest. Any doubt, any flaw, is drowned out by the rhythmic thump of a voice that says you are not alone.
It’s like that with books.
There are so many books, so many writers I could tell you about, which would make me look clever, or deep, or wise. But let’s be honest with each other for a moment: those are not the books which live within you. The books you fall in love with are the books with flaws. They are the books you devoured late at night under the sheets…
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