I can’t let go of hard-bounds and paper backs, of tawny pages with affirming sounds for every page turned, of glossy jackets that transform the book once removed, of ink sniffing with hints of oak that surrendered for literature’s sake, and of riveting anticipation only real books could evoke…
Part of my soul yearns to hunt for pre-read masterpieces with scribbled notes and circled words that enriched the owner’s vocabulary. There is refuge in a thrift shop, the deafening silence brought about by colossal knowledge housed by feeble shelves. I love sitting on bookstore floors like a child building imaginations with puzzles of make-believe.
I like how autobiographies hit you in the face with bold fonts and heavy covers. Non-fiction appear cool and unassuming in front but they confuse you moreover. I consider it a light exercise when I flip a page to another without breaking the integrity of a written piece. It annoys and amazes me when I push the finished pages aside and hold on to the last twenty sheets that remain. And for the last grasp of a paper back, I would read the publisher’s notes just the same.
A book may make my bag slightly heavier but I take it out and hold it instead. A bookworm would always defend its existence or its necessity to be carried around everywhere. What if I get stuck somewhere? I’d rather read than be aware.
A book chronicles my life with smudges and folded sides. It witnesses my anticipation to break it open from its wrap. It watches me sleep reading the last paragraph. And when it’s time for it to be set aside, it joins the rest on a clever arrangement, oblivious to the visual amazement of each series forming pictures and patterns on the shelf.
I will hold on to hard-bounds and paper backs as far as the bookworms in the world allow them to exist. The future is inevitable just how ebooks came to exist. They are there to exist on their own and not to put my books to their demise. E-books can be free but nothing liberates me when I open a book and welcome me with the smell of oak. #
(C) Copyright. JOXtapose 2012