It’s raining right now, and rain and books have infamously gone perfectly together, which leads me to say that I started reading The Great Gatsby last night. Three chapters in and I’m already loving it.

His descriptions. He described the celing as a cake. Who does that? And he describes the
stars as a “silver pepper across the sky” (major paraphrase, but hopefully you know what I mean). That’s just beautiful, my gosh.

It’s masterfully written and I can picture it perfectly. I can’t say how much I enjoy being swept away to Staten Island during the roaring twenties, a place with big mansions and lavish parties and hot summers. (Summer is beginning in real life, which makes this book even better.) I don’t think I realized books could be this vivid. Or at least, it's been a long time that I read one as vivid and easy-to-picture as this.

I don’t normally like most classics, but this is one I’m beginning to fall in love with. Have you read it?

P.S. - my copy has a picture of F. Scott Fitzgerald on the back. When I first saw it, I freaked out because it looked so much like Tom Hiddleston. True story. (I see why he played Fitzgerald in Midnight to Paris now! Although, I haven't seen the movie. But Tumblr and gifsets can tell a girl everything.)

One spark of an old story idea I’d had years ago. That’s all it took to send me on a raucous, determined quest into the depths of my closet to find some of the very first words I ever penned. That wasn’t what I expected to find, of course. A lot of what I found there wasn’t what I expected to find, but isn’t that the way quests are?

I pushed through the clothing and curled up on the wooden floor, sitting Indian-style, and I sorted through pages and pages of my history. My words were there, written for all eternity, preserved in the spaces of paper and time. I went away to another world there.

I found my dreams there.

I found a stapled-together sheaf of paper. Four pages filled with some of the most beautiful words I’ve had the privilege of reading in all my life. But they weren’t written by me. I had forgotten about this blog entry; I forgot that I had even printed it out. I had forgotten how much the words made me soar and made me feel alive.

I can’t believe words can do that. A collection of words, stapled together, hidden in my closet for who-knows-how-long, until just now. That was all it took for me to come alive.

It was a story about a prince and a princess, and for a moment I was swept away into a sparkling night on the other side of the pages… and it was so, so beautiful. As I held the dusty paper in my hands I realized how grateful I was I’d printed this out, because the internet doesn’t always last forever. These words—I wanted them to stick with me always.

This blog post was written by Adam Young for those curious (I can’t find a link because his blog seems to be down, but it was the entry titled I’ll See You In My Dreams). Regardless, the effect of these words still lingers, which is that in my closet I found a world again (not unlike Narnia), and I found some of my younger self, and I remembered what I was like one summer not too long ago when I dreamed and dreamed about all things bright and beautiful.

I remember it now. I remember that summer filled with life and light and exuberant joy. I want to have that summer again, but maybe that’s not important. Maybe what is important is that I’ve remembered what it’s like to dream.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten lost and found my way back again—it seems to happen over and over again. But each time it does, it feels amazing when I wake up, back into the reality, or not-reality, as it were. And it’s wonderful and it feels just like coming home.

Thank you, Owl City. But… this almost feels like it extends far beyond Owl City, into the world of beauty and wonder and everything bright and beautiful. Regardless, I’ve returned to the ranks of dreamers all over the world. And it’s good to be back.