The written loom

Dear Stranger,

It’s July already.. how did we get here?

Half the year is behind us, and summer in Greece is in full bloom: sun-scorched beaches, windows wide open, seas humming, and.. best of all.. books everywhere.

Everywhere I go, I see people reading.. On balconies. On ferries. In cafés. At kiosks.. Paperbacks shielding faces from the sun. Bookmarks peeking from beach bags.. Even in the tiniest shops, I stumble upon books: vintage romance novels, forgotten bestsellers with sun-bleached covers, uneven printings of serious classics, and yes… even Paper back novels, unapologetically pink, absurdly dramatic, and surprisingly comforting..

Last week, I found a mini-collection of Jules Verne in a small-town kiosk. My heart skipped a beat..
And at a large bookstore, I got lost in the dictionary section, not because I needed a dictionary, but because I love them..
The idea of opening a random page and discovering a word I don’t know, that’s magic to me..
Not to memorize it, not even to use it.. Just to feel it..
Some words are like strangers you’ve met in dreams.. they seem familiar even if you can’t place them..

Now my house is overflowing with book stacks: read and unread, heavy and fragile, hopeful and absurd..
They smell like childhood and possibility.. My only true complaint? The poor quality of bookbinding these days..
It’s as if stories deserve less care now..
But I still believe that a good book — like a good soul — deserves to be held together with tenderness..

This summer, may you find yourself inside a paperback that feels like home..
And if you stumble upon a dictionary you don’t need — take it.. Words, like memories, come back when you least expect them..

With love from between the pages,
— A reader with ink-stained fingers and too many unfinished books,

Tatiana..