You never read a book by chance. That’s the thought that kept me awake. Like a spark becoming a dancing flame in front of our eyes when we light a fire, this phrase that was looping through my mind completely ignited my imagination. My soul caught fire as if by magic and my head flew away, wandering in the world of dreams that is that of books, of history, of words, of life.
It was while rummaging through my well-stocked library, which I thought I had read and re-read many times, that I came across a hidden book.I opened the latter, understated, understated and not too much stuff, and, bam!, it was exactly what I needed to push my thoughts and continue to grow as a person. This little treasure buried among his family contained everything I needed to go a little further, marvel more and even soothe myself in this period of novelty and learning that fatherhood represents.
By this simple gesture of taking a book that was unknown to me, this omnipresent thought came to me. There is no such thing as coincidence ! In any case, not when it comes to a book. Whether we are talking about a book lent by a friend who knows it will help us, about a work that we are actively looking for in all the local bookstores, or about an unloved skinned life that we find in a box of books in the middle of a park, each book has its purpose and our encounter with it is a matter of destiny.
Often, without our knowing it, our instinct knows when our gaze rests on the right one, when our hands caress the blanket and when our heart leaps with joy at the idea of the wonders that this little last one that will make us lose track of time for the days to follow. Our breath quickens just imagining the sweet moments of relaxation to come, the stimulating ideas that will turn us upside down or even the intoxicating late hours of reading sometimes taking us until the light of dawn without us having seen the time pass. For insiders, nothing or almost nothing can replace this feeling of freedom, intimacy and connection with the universe that reading represents.
To read is to exist, to be part of something much bigger, much more magical and much more interrelated than ourselves. Let yourself be carried away by the words, so complex, so complete and so distinguished from the French language. It is to dive head first into a world where the only limit is that of the confines of the overflowing imagination of passionate writers, which is almost non-existent. To read is to explore the infinity of knowledge, stories, dreams, passion and love that humanity contains.
Every moment of turning the pages is for me an opportunity, an inspiration and even sometimes a kind of illumination that allows the words to dance in my head and harmonize to form texts that I write at the pace dictated by emotions. what these dear books make me live. Letters form words that become thoughts, images, feelings and ideas that I feel the need to share.
This is what is at the base of any story, poem, song, novel: emotion. An emotion so vibrant, overflowing and lively that life leads us to put it into words to launch it into the infinite universe of writing. This is why, when the right book arrives at the right time, among the millions of things that we could read instead, I tell myself that chance does not exist since each book that crosses our path has its reason for existing. .