I am very fond about books, specially for my books. When I came to New Zealand I brought them in a ship, my books crossed the sea. The same happened when I moved to Argentina, and then when I came back to Brazil. My books are my companions. Many people ask me amazed, why did you bring books? Because they are part of me. I used to write on them, my books are marked with underlines in the sentences I love more. Few people would like to read books like that, filled of small notes through the pages. My books hold my secrets too. Sometimes I find old letters inside them, forgotten by the time. I like the smell of my old books too looks like chocolate.
Old books always catch my attention, I am addicted for used book stores. They are magical , every time I go to one of these stores I expected to find a treasure, I like to imagine who is the last person who read that book, which is her/his story, it’s a delightful surprise if I find some letter or note inside, some clue about who owned that little enchanted item.
I tried e-books and the libraries in Auckland are very good, I read many good books from the libraries. But the old books call me as a sirens. There is a small used book store in Devenport. I need to pick up the ferry boat, it is nice to see the sea during the travel. The book store has a nice sofa to sit and flip the pages of a book, the owner always put some French music to play, and the shop smells delicious, I could not distinguish which kind of perfume, sometimes looks like the owner use the same perfume, as the store and her are made together , inseparable, symbiotic relationship. When I sit on the sofa, flipping the pages of some book the time stops and just when I chose a book and cross the door to the street , the clocks beat again.
Cereal & Gardenal 