Old books have always fascinated me. They look interesting,
with their yellowed pages and often frayed and faded binding. They even smell
good to me, for if literature had a smell, that would be it. I remember going
through my grandma’s attic as a kid, looking at all of these old books. I don’t
remember the titles of any of them off the top of my head, none were any that I
had ever heard of, but what I do remember and still have today is my desire to read
each and every one of them. I want to unlock magical worlds trapped between the
pages of those tattered and ignored volumes, worlds that my friends will most
likely never enter unless they come across some old books too. This is why I
love old books.
I really like the way you mentioned that part of the reason you love the old books is because they take you to a world that you can call your own, as it's less likely for somebody to read that exact same old book. I will say that the fourth sentence seems to run on a little and become jumbled because of that, so maybe try splitting it up? Either way, I really can relate to this and like it a lot!
ReplyDeleteI love this piece: it's a little nostalgic, and personal. I love the line:"for if literature had a smell, that would be it." I totally agree with you; I feel the same way about old books. I also really like how you talked about your grandma's attic, this subtlety brings out the old, musty feeling that books acquire after time and I think it makes your peice more rich.
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