Something i’ve really been thinking about lately: i’m genuinely so grateful for books. For stories and writers and their wild imagination. This year has been incredibly hard, no one needs a reminder of that, and being able to escape somewhere else is beyond comforting. Sure, there are days when I’m unable to read at all, because life gets in the way, or the weight of everything that’s going on feels like too much to even be able to read one word. But there are days when I devour page after page and those are the days when I think…when I know that books have saved me.