Once again, I am posting a photo for my weekly challenge at the eleventh hour. I almost gave up on this topic, thinking it would be too difficult to portray a sincere representation of love with just a quick iPhone photo. But, at the last minute, I decided that the subject doesn’t necessitate a flowery post on the ideal of love. Rather, just what love means to me.
Looking back on my (almost) thirty years, there are only a handful of things that I can honestly say I love to do. And, without a doubt, reading is my very, very, favorite. I don’t remember when I started reading “for fun” (as my friends always used to say). It just seems like an integral part of who I am and who I always have been.
I would like to say that there’s nothing better than a comfy chair and a good book, but let’s face it… I’ve never needed the comfy chair or even a good book. I am usually satisfied with just a moderately interesting plot and acceptable grammar. And, I have buried my head in books anywhere and everywhere… in cars, planes, and buses; on bicycles and treadmills, beaches and mountains; at school, work, and church. Even the first sight of the Rockies from desolate Western Kansas was barely enough to drag my head out of my book throughout my youth.
If it’s true that the real meaning of love is sacrifice, then surely my love affair with reading has continued to deepen over the years. I have sacrificed comfort, conversation, and so much sleep for that indescribable need to turn the next page.