A Tree Grows In Brooklyn.

Stumbling around on the internet, I came across an article written by an anonymous book lover. He records an anecdote about how, while on the train one day, he caught a young girl reading over his shoulder. She then proceeded to tell him about how she was an English Lit Major, and read constantly. But she was never able to find anything that she loved as much as what she read when she was 12 years old. The author then goes on to talk about how true that statement is; how avid readers never really find anything that changes their life so much, as the book that really got them started reading.
This whole thing just struck me as very true. I mean, I read all the time. There is never a moment where I am not in the middle of at least three books. But as much as I love them all, there really has never been a book that changed the way I look at things so much as A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. What a beautiful, beautiful book. It’s one of the first books I can remember reading, and holding close to my chest after finishing it, because I just didn’t want to let it go.
I still have that book; the pages are yellowed and folded. Maybe today I’ll pick it up and read it again.
Who knows? Maybe it will change my life once more.

P.s.- I’m really afraid of my feelings for you. I’m not sure what to do.