From first sight, no, you don't look for personality. They say, "Don't judge a book by it's cover," but the cover is all we have, right? Until we open the pages, we can only suspect what the story will be from what we see in front of us. And some "books" are more appealing than others.
A little more interesting.
A little more suspenseful.
A little more suspiscious.
A little more... beautiful.
We set these 'books' in our path. We place them in front of us with a little more attentiveness. We look a little closer. We analyze them and try to develop a feeling for them. Happiness. Sadness. Grief. Pain. Excitement... Something. Until we open the pages. And we read. And we feel. And we laugh. And we cry. And we feel. And sometimes, we fall.
We fall into this world that is not our own. We fall for the places we read in to. And we fall for the 'book'.
And sometimes, we don't read first what others feel is better for us. The one that is so similar to us. The one that is probably "right" for us. And we watch, as they sit on the shelf, waiting for anothers hands to brush across their spine. Watch how someone else finds the creases left from past friendships, relationships, love, and loss. And watch how that person becomes accustom to the indents and flaws the book is covered in.
But, alas, our story is not one to be filled with sadness. We are still writing. Every friendship, every relationship. Love and loss. Failure to success. We are writing tales of our own. And here I am making you one of mine.
I have read you over and over, still trying to make sense of your story. I have read you over and over, weaving through letters. Stepping over sentences like I'm running through a forest, dodging the branches and roots that might make me trip and stumble. And even if I miss one, and even if I take the dive, I know you are there to catch me.
I saw your cover, and wanted more. And there were others whose covers showed me tales of wonder and exploration and excitement. But yours showed me tales of "almost there, but not quite getting it," and I wanted more.
You asked, "Why me?"
My response, "Why not?"
