I have no issue with either Kindle or Nook. But I love the good, old paper book. The way the scent of ink and paper waft the room as I leaf through its pages; the way words and worlds leap before my eyes to colonize my mind, albeit for a moment. Its weight in my hands, they way it bends, folds and creased any way I want. The manner that it occupies a space in the shelf patiently waiting for me, when stabbed by a sudden need to withdraw from the world to recapture lost experiences and emotions, to take it down and open it again. The way it slumbers in peace beside me through the night. Dog-eared, lined, dirty with the scribbles I made during those times that we talked deeply, books and me have been friends since the time I learned to string words together and understand what they mean. We came a long way.
