I love bookshops. I love what they’re about, what they contain and who roams their aisles of endless adventure and self-discovery.
More than that, I love that they help me to feel and embrace my romantic side because it’s only in bookstores that I completely and unashamedly embrace romanticism in any capacity.
There’s opportunity for us to fall in love with the community a bookshop can reside in. I love falling in love with bookshops where the owner gets to know you and your book preference so well they have a stack of books ready for you before you even walk though the door. I kid you not, I went into a random bookshop in an unfamiliar town and ended up having a 45-minute conversation with a man about a book I happened to pick up that he happened to love. Turns out he was the owner and went to the back room to make sure I had a fresh copy to take home. It was the most genuine moment that I can’t forget.
I love the idea of falling in love with an author’s writing style and not being able to get enough of their creative outpourings. Their heart and soul were stirred into this concoction of a book and here it is, in my tiny town for me to read and absorb under my covers in the middle of the night. Or in a coffee shop. Or at the park. Or sometimes at the dinner table because trying to get this book into my brain takes priority over food in my stomach.
I love that bookshops are pockets of universe both preserving years of history and creating it themselves.
I love being a story keeper. Every book that is added to my little library is now one more story I’ve collected, maintained, loved and shared.
This is my love letter to bookshops. I love you. You’re amazing. Thank you for it all.
Until Next Time,