Talk about politics.
Actually no. I don’t want to talk about politics.
I just want to say what would be lovely.
It’s a cold night right now and I am imagining a rainy evening, lights dimmed, we’re talking with mugs of coffee in our hands, at times sitting quitely just listening to the beautiful harmony of the rain falling onto our roof.
We’re talking about books.
Books we have read and why we read the books at the first place.
Our favourite genres, or rather how we don’t have favourite genres. We read whatever we need or we feel like at that time. The languages we read in.
The kind of knowledge and inspiration we gained from each book.
The characters in the fictions that we indulged in, the mysterious stories, the emotions we had during our encounters with those characters.
The situations in our lives or our countries while we were reading those books. How some books happened to resonate with our lives at those points of time.
The scent of a new book.
The smell of an old book.
Real books versus e-books.
The habit of reading.
How we ended up with each other after reading all of those books. Our own little book club. Just the two of us.
And then the night deepens.
“Ayuh tidur. Esok kita ke toko buku lagi.”
(Let’s go to bed. We’ll visit the bookshop again tomorrow.)