Books were made to give you wings to fly to other worlds and not roots to keep you in reality.  They talk about love and pain because only then are happy endings possible.  They contract worlds without barriers, without limits and without labels.  They are glue that reassembles every bit of your broken heart.  They don't have a soul or heart, but they were your best friends through the worst of times.  Books are imperfectly perfect. 📖