I have an affair with books much like the affairs I have with my lovers. I lust after them, obtain them, and then proceed to another. I desire books then leave them unfinished. I trace the outlines of their bodies with my fingertips, explore their meanings with my lips, gaze over the lines, lost in my own thoughts, and close the book, turn the lights off. The morning after to not be seen again. Books, like men, spark my interest. There are many books in this world. Romances, tragedies, comedies, best sellers, and dusty forgotten tales. Untouched I yearn to caress my hand along their spine, open them, explore them.
I think for once in my life I have picked a book I will finish. Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls by Jes Baker, famously known as the Militant Baker. Within the first 30 pages I never felt more empowerment; a fire that has been slowly kindled back to life began to roar. I admit I love my Poe, Austin, and Chopin, but this was different. This book was in itself an awakening of my own. An unapologetic love letter to my body and soul.