Days like today, when I’m more tired than usual and my body feels questionably heavy and slow, I’ll read an excerpt from a novel or an article, and feel at ease.

I’ll feel small in the wake of the world and the enormity of the human experience. I’ll feel enveloped by the greats who have gone before me and giddy as I look forward towards the brilliance that has yet to come. While standing quietly and gratefully on this middle ground, I feel safe.

Literature will do that to you. Words, the right words strung together, will agitate the stiffness within you. The turning of pages will soften you, evoking more and more beauty from your very being.

Often times, by the time I get to the end of a chapter, or the end of a book, I’ll be weeping for both the sake of the story and the sake of my own heart. Grateful for the author’s words and their ability to restore in me a region of my own self. A piece I hadn’t known was fractured.




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