readreadread

Growing up in a household where television was considered passage into the depths of hell and complacent mediocrity I spent a large portion of my life immersed in books, books and more books. My littlest sister, a decade my junior, tends to stare at books like they've been teleported forward in time, covered in the dust of dead authors and dripping with the ink that once flowed through their veins. There are no bells, whistles or chimes so her eyes dull and her fingertips wander towards keyboards. Bookmarks are left naked and pages lie flat.