When I was young, my little space was my own bed. I had books stacked on my tiny bed that I smuggled from my parents’ bookshelf, and often I wandered in the wonderland of those books that I could stay awake without food or water. The only companies I had were my imagination and my emotions, and they drifted with me according to the flow of plot, up and down, joy and sorrow.
Now I have grown, my bed too has doubled the size. I have my own books and bookshelves, but I don’t have time to wander so freely in the wonderlands that I have once visited. I have more friends than my imagination and my emotions, but they are not the ones I could invite into my little space. Many times when I am tired, mentally and emotionally, I just hope to go back to the place that I could connect with the authors of those books, and I could be filled with courage and strength to move on.
But now I found another space, which is here, for me to create a wanderland for myself that I could sort out my thoughts and straighten my feelings.
So I will find time to stay here.