"Oh." A small, disappointed frown colors his expression. "I probably can't help you then." He replays the other man's words-- "something that calls to me. Something unlike the rest." and he tilts his head curiously. "Although... aren't they all unlike the rest, sir?" He is not searching for a philosophical argument, and it shows in the politeness of his words, but for Mateo each book had a magic of its own, a certain uniqueness, be it in the topic or the tone or the language of the writing. It's what made reading so wondrous, because each time it made his world feel just a little bigger. Every sentence made him think something differently, feel something differently.
"I think I know what you mean, though," he says quickly, lest the stranger take offense. God knows the winged stallion has gotten into terrible moods where he wants to read so many things at once that he does not read anything at all. The same would happen with songwriting, or singing itself. The pursuit of perfection, and the impatience to achieve it, so often swallowed itself whole, leaving one with nothing at all but the sense of having wasted precious time.
"Sometimes you just need to get through a few rotten apples before you find a peach, you know? I mean," he takes a quick breath, clarifying his statement before the pale stallion even has a chance to respond to it,"sometimes we don't hear the books that are calling to us, until other books show us how to listen."
Mateo grins then, as if to say but what do I know and flutters his wings in greeting. "I'm Mateo. Or just Teo. Or whatever else you'd like to call me, really." He was quite proud of his many nicknames-- he liked thinking he was someone different to every person-- but most just called him Mateo, and he was proud of that too because it was the name his mother chose for him. And a damn fine name it was, in his opinion. "Anyway, I hope you find what you're looking for."
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@Lasairian sorry for the wait! <3
