Here is what I know. Sometimes, a book will sing to you. Sing to your soul, your pain, your being. Sometimes a book will know you, inside out, and it’s as though the pages have some sort of magical quality and the words are appearing on them just a little bit quicker than you are reading, because they are so very connected to your own heart and your own story that that’s the most logical explanation for what’s happening. Sometimes a book that you once gave up on takes on a new quality when you re-read it; when you get past the part you were stuck on, when you have the brain space or heart room
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