Random realities

Books

Books.

How does one define them?I really don't have the least bit of an idea,so I'll just give you my version of what they're.

Overflowing rivers of rainbows,unicorns,monsters,demons,ghosts,characters you love and characters you detest,people you connect with,and people you can't make sense of at all,places you want to visit and places that visit you at night,they're homes to your tears,laughter,anger,pain but most of all,they are a solace.They're my hiding place from the world,they are pages for scribbling my thoughts on,and words for highlighting the parts that I love,they are my companions and my distraction,they are the hidden jewels I am torn between sharing and taking to grave.

Books are a joy I can no longer call mine.