The essence of being.
And so, it happens again. I should be thankful that falling in love is not a crime. At the rate I am going, I think I would be inclined to getting better luck just living within the yellowed pages of a fantasy novel, than spending over forty hours a week slaving away at work.
In fact, I should also be at least slightly concerned at the fact that somehow, some way or another, they always end up being younger than I am. Either that, or I should start acting my age instead of (still) opting for teenager/young adult books.
But how can I not fall for them, when they remind me of a youth that I do not have? They are young and restless; talented and dangerous; clever and ingenious; always with a thrilling adventure at hand, guaranteed to dazzle and to impress at every twist and turn.
Sometimes I take my books a bit too seriously, but it is a risk I am willing to take. You have no idea what wonders it does to my sanity.