We live inside our books in this house. I learned to read to escape into another world. Reading has always been my salvation and near obsession.
So when I was reading to Autumn last night and she told me, with tears running down her face that she wanted so much to go into the book, I understood. I know she’s not trying to escape. But there is something so wonderful about being so in love with your stories that you want to live inside of their covers.
She was crying because she knew she couldn’t but she kept pleading for me to find a way for her to get into the book.
Wow, something I can’t actually give to her, other than to keep reading:
And no, we are not getting a Rottweiler (even though I love them too.)