After the events in Orlando I decided to make a rainbow of books earlier, to show my thoughts are with those affected. To show support that love is love, and that we are all free to love whom we love.
But it made me think of the freedom of books, of literature. I guess it is a contradiction, really, that books are containers. Through the pages the words are contained. They are a bulk, an object. The cover represses the inner story. Yet they are all free, in every form of the word. They are free to change with each reader, free to express what they dare express, free to live on in a reader’s mind even when they are lost or destroyed. Despite being crafted into production, they are free through the imagination that created them, the imagination that is constantly bringing them back to life.
So despite their covers being formed by others, their story being ridiculed or loved by those that see them, they are always free. Free to be what they will be. We will always be free, no matter what others do to try and restrict us. The books may be burned but their story will continue on, with freedom. We may be destroyed, but our love will go on, with freedom.