I came across this beautiful video at openculture
It got me thinking about my life of reading, books and love.
When I first fell in love I was reading Herman Hesse, Aldous Huxley and John Fante I was 21 and had just gotten over reading the beat authors Kerouac and Burroughs and modern popular authors like Chuck Palahniuk. I devoured everything by Hesse, Huxley and Fante. I gave my boyfriend, Demian, he never read books and he never read that one.
I fell into infatuation with a boy and we had a mild fling I was reading William James, Virgina Woolf, Salinger, and Camus, I was 23 he introduced me to James Baldwin and he ended it after two months. It broke my heart because we never understood each other and never really saw past our own fears and expectations.
I was reading books of psychology and I met a man who he and I spoke mainly of books. He loved similar books as me and we would read pieces of stories to each other. He found the same beauty in books that I found. Our relationship ended and I fell asleep with books in my bed.
I fell in love at 25 while reading Stephen Hawking, Henry James, Studs Terkel, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. I would talk to my boyfriend about physics, morality and spirituality. We never agreed. I bought him books for every holiday and birthday, I would spend hours trying to find the perfect book that might capture his heart in the same way that books have captured mine. He would read them 6 months later while flying on airplane (because there is little else to do) and tell me casually, it was good. I would read him Grimms’ Fairy Tales as he fell asleep, he would be out after the first page but I would keep on reading. We read Howard Zinn and stories of Malcom X together, reading passages about riots and people fighting for their rights and then we’d talk about politics and society.
I am still in love with that man, he doesn’t love books in the same way that I do, but I think that might be healthy for a girl who always has a book by her side and on her mind.