The Bookshelf Reading Center

I moved into a new home, and the four white walls were bare and empty. When friends came to visit, their first words were always, "Let me see your bookshelf." I pointed to the books in the corner and said they were my entire bookshelf. My friends burst out laughing. "What kind of bookshelf is that?" I just smiled and said nothing. As time went by, I slowly collected more books: some were gifts from friends, some I found in secondhand bookstores, and some were sent by my mother. With nowhere to stand on a shelf, they piled up one by one beside my bed, on the windowsill, and across the floor. One late night, sitting in the middle of all those books, I suddenly realized that a bookshelf had never really been made of wood. It was a kingdom quietly built over time from every book you had truly loved.