Oh change. How you bug me. Especially when change means that I am about to do something I said I never will.
As much as I hate going against something I said previously, I have no choice but to accept that I cannot always be right. No matter how much I wish I could be.
True love must change and grow – whether it is love for that delicious cheeseburger, soul mate or in my case the love of books. How can I claim love if I’m not willing to see it through its changes? Now that I have begun looking deeper I have realized that it isn’t just the books I love.
That is the superficial part of my love, the love that I can see and touch and smell. The deeper, true, unquenchable love, is my love for the written word. However a story is recorded, whether beautifully in ink or ecologically friendly and in an e-reader – deep down inside it’s still the same. The same hard work still went into it, the same hopes and dreams and… love.
It will still teach me, help me grow, bring a smile to my lips or a tear to my eye. It is still the story that I love, and it always will be – no matter what form it takes.
No one else could have told me this, it was something I had to figure out on my own. I don’t want to miss out on an amazing story just because it was recorded in a way that was different from what I’m used to.
I’m burying the hatchet. Laying down my tomahawk. Holstering my guns.
I’ll give this new medium a try, because if I don’t – how can I truly claim that it’s the stories that mean so much to me?