The doors

Dear diary,

   I've been thinking about a new concept that came to my mind for a while now. I find it interesting how the important people in our life unlock different doors inside us. It's like we're all wonderful castles that carry their stories of the past with them... some happy, some sad, but all as important to the beauty and the mystery of the castle.
   As castles, we all gather bits and pieces of information that has been given to us and we keep it in different rooms along the time. And when the right person approaches the castle, it enters it and it finds a new key that leads to a new room. A room with wonders and unexpected beauty. With secret books they never knew existed but which apparently were always there. 

   New people open new rooms of the beautiful castle and in the end the whole building will be open to visit for it has reached the age of wisdom when it can give forward what it has received over so many years. 

   How wonderful can it be to know that at an unexpected moment, an unexpected visitor will open up a new room in your beautiful castle, a room that will be a wonder for both the visitor and for the castle itself!:)

In wonder,

D.

Bits of stolen soul

Dear diary,

   The other day I discovered that, just like Augustus in "The fault in our stars", I'm an insatiable soul. I'm never satisfied with an answer, I always want to know more and analyse everything. So even when I'm laying in bed with my eyes closed before falling asleep, I think about something. I analyse, I try to understand. I'm also never satisfied with just reading one book by an author I love. Actually, when I fall in love with a writer, I'm the worst "girlfriend" ever. I suffocate him with my attention buying all his books that saw the light of paper and then I get lost in his universe until I finish the last book written. I love underlining my favorite quotes and transfering them in my life. I identify with his characters and I forget who I am. I let him steal a bit of my soul and I never look back. 

   I realized I developed a deep, complex and consuming relationship with my favorite books. Not in the sense of feeling the urgent need to read them over and over again. (I don't remember if I ever read a book twice.) No. It's consuming in the sense that my life feels empty whenever the book ends. I find myself missing the characters and wondering how their life might be, just like Hazel (the other character in "The fault in our stars") did after reading "An imperial affliction". She made me remember life is damn short and we'd better live it. She inspired me in thinking that maybe when we're born we each receive an hourglass. Some are huge, others are tiny. An anonymous pre-ordered hourglass. And when the sand is finished, we end our beautiful journey. Just like that. Without further explanation. 

   Augustus feared oblivion. I fear the exact same thing, but then my friends said that the smallest gesture we do towards somebody might change his life and so he'll change somebody else's remembering how I changed his. So maybe, just maybe, we do matter. Even when we're stardust, we still matter. And that's the most comforting thing ever. But until I get there, until my dust finishes, I wanna go out there and continue what I started. Keep falling in love with beautiful writers and spread bits of my soul to the ones who earned it. Because, oh, how good does that feel!

Forever in love,

D.