Imagine looking through a window at any environment that is particularly significant to you. Reflect on the scene, paying close attention to the relation between what you are seeing and why it is meaningful to you.
What I see is that which has always brought me comfort: my town's library, but more specifically the garden. Tall trees with high reaching branches protect the top of anyone's head from the sun. The entire vicinity is under one cool shadow. Here, I was saved.
As a child, the library was the most exciting place to be. I've been told to never judge a book by its cover, but every trip to the children's section had me on a hunt for an attractive cover. As I got older, the thickness of my books grew, as did my level of engrossment. At school, I carried books with me wherever I went. I read in class, at lunch, and during playtime. Though I was always alone, I didn't notice because I was always reading. No one disliked me, but no one liked me either. Unless I was a team captain, I was always the last one picked in sports. When a teacher told us to raise our hands if we didn't have a partner, mine always went up.
One weekend, I gathered up all my borrowed books and went to the town library to return them with the intent to never go back. As I walked out the door, I bumped into two girls from my class. "We're on a mission! Help us find lemony clovers!" Unaware that this was joke, I agreed, but even so, in such a manner, I spent an hour in the library's garden eating heart-shaped clovers that tasted like lemon, honey suckle, and plain grass. In the end I was given a book and told "Okay, we can be friends if you read this."
At the library I met my best friends: books and the people who saved my passion for reading.