Every time she was invited into people’s homes, her gaze unconsciously went to their library. She fervently believed that a home without books was like a body without a soul. And she loved to discover where and how people had placed a library in their homes. But that wasn’t all.
It wasn’t enough to simply have a piece of furniture stacked with books.
It also depended on the quality and nature of those books; not only their content, but also their appearance. How a reader treats their books also says a lot about them as a person. Someone who appreciates their books and takes care of them, keeping them in pristine condition, is a much different character to one who breaks their spines and folds their pages.
A fun part of discovering new libraries, she found, was scanning the titles and discovering books she too read, or that were on her list to do so.
But the best memory she had of a home library was when the young man she had recently met gave her a tour of his favourite books. Rarely would someone share their virtual journeys with another like that. And the most reminiscent of all was when he took out a hardback book from the top right-hand corner of the tall living-room bookshelf, presenting it to her and saying, “You must have certainly read this one. I’m sure you know it”.
She took it in her hands as if receiving an invaluable treasure.
She read the title and gulped. The cover was filled with stars.
“Oh so you’re the star!”, the young man mimicked.
That’s how stardust is formed. Magically. From the smallest and seemingly most insignificant things.