Thoughts and books

I'm sitting in my dad's home office/study (after a nice workout session and a cool shower), and I'm just taking in this blissful euphoria that has settled on me.
It's nice here.
Quiet.

The array of books lined on the twin bookshelf thingie drawing me in like the ocean calls out to a surfer idling on the beach.
I'm thinking, "This is my escape."
A little phrase from ancient text pops up into my head: "I, Daniel, understood by the books..."

Books have always...ALWAYS been an integral part of my life. I've always wanted to get into the mind of the author. See his thoughts. Feel his passion.

There's magic in the power of thought. This magic has from time immemorial been super imposed upon even the dullest of minds after encountering the tangible substance in books.

Sadly, many a magical thought has been lost forever because they weren't documented.

Through the  mind, we can empathize. We can feel the thrilling ecstasy of a teenage girl who has finally gotten those cute louboutins she's always wanted; or the blistering fury of a man forced to watch as his beloved lady is raped by despicable lowlifes; we can get into the mind of the despairing wife who sits by her Hubby's hospital bed, nursing and praying for him as he recovers from yet another stroke; and we can appreciate the complexity of the life of the office desk clerk who dances at a strip club at night just to make ends meet and take care of her 4-year old son.

This is why we read.
And if people didn't write, what would we read?

(BTW, it's my birthday today!!!)