I'm going to take a wild guess here.

You grew up reading. Absolutely loved it. Falling headfirst through the pages of a book and into faraway lands full of enchantment and wonder was your favorite way to explore. Some of your best friends were fictional characters, and your favorite places existed only on the maps on the interior cover.

But one day the magic began to fade, and over time you stopped picking up the books. You traded imagination for harsh reality, and sought outward acceptance instead of inner peace. You're an adult now after all, you should act like one, right? Slowly, the inner spark dulls.

Fast forward a decade. A friend of a friend posts about an incredible book they read. A book. And something long buried deep inside you sort of perks its ears, sniffing the air because THIS. This is what it has been waiting for. This is what you were made for.

To experience. To wander. To love, to lose, and to love again.

And suddenly, that spark flickers back to life like an old friend waving at you from across the train station. Pulling you in tight for a warm embrace, accepting you for who you are and where you are in your journey right now. Suddenly, you can breathe again, and you realize that spark never left you after all. It was with you the whole time, waiting for the fuel that would bring it back to life.

There you are, you beautiful creature. I'm glad you're here.