There’s always been something I loved about book fairs. I love being surrounded by a sea of literature that I couldn’t even fathom if I tried. I love knowing that there is too much to know, and not knowing everything gives me comfort. I love knowing that creation never stops, that we can have a million books with the same twenty-six letters.
I love meeting books in the alleys, surrounded by people who lose themselves in pages. From racks of second-hand books, spilling with love-letters scented with musk, and bookmarks from tropical destinations, to children’s books with happy faces. From coffee-table books with glossy pages and crystal-clear pictures to mountains of dictionaries.
There’s always been something I loved about book fairs.