They Were My Childhood Memories

You never liked places that were quiet. You attracted noice, but for some reason since I like these places you slowly became fond of it as well. You asked if we could go to chapters, just so I could read to you. Read you the books that my mom used to read me, and why they were special.
" Every Friday, before Christmas day, my mom would read me the story and then we'd watch the movie" I said as I opened the book" How The Grinch Stole Christmas. "

"This book was my thursday book, every thursday I'd scream and yell about I didn't want to eat dinner, and she'd send me to my room and I'd do just what the kid in the book did, and then she'd come read me the story, and have my food for me "
I said as I opened the next book Where The Wild Things Are.
With each book, your eyes got bigger, as if each story and each reason I read it, made you feel more connected to me. More involved in a life you had wished you'd been a part of. With each book, you got my childhood memories. As I finished each book, I gave you a memory of mine. I'm letting you in now. This is becoming serious.
Don't let me down. Don't let me grow attached if all you'll be is another memory.