Since I was five I've wanted to live in a house with a library. Go ahead, blame it on Beauty & the Beast. But I've always imagined a room, not even a large room, but just a room with floor-to-ceiling shelving. When I was a kid I used to bury myself under my dad's books. I would pull them off all the shelves and lay them around me and on top of me. I couldn't even read, but I just loved the mystique of words; I knew they contained something special, and that one day I would know exactly what. Till then, I wanted to surround myself with them...and I still do. It's just a safe place for me, where my spirit can run wild and my mind can drink in some solace.
Confession: when I imagine Heaven I see two things—endless greenery, and sitting in a library room with comfy chairs and blankets, talking to God and being read to. I don't know why, but it just seems like the most intimate place to me, I guess because I sometimes see God as an old, quirky grandpa who smokes a pipe and wants to share stories with you because he's always trying to get you to live your own—like C.S. Lewis mixed with Mr. Coreander from The NeverEnding Story or something.
Feel free to roll your eyes, I'm pretty sure you just got a glimpse of the corniest side of me. But, you can't deny the charm of the book-house I discovered on Yahoo! Not a library mind you, a house. It's literally constructed so that every space—every room, every wall—serves as shelving.
It's not quite Heaven, but it makes me feel one step closer.
