Here I am. Inside these covers, with pages and pages surrounding me. It has been dark here for quite awhile. No one has come around to read us.
Wait, I feel movement! I sense the covers openings a bit. Yes! There is light! We are being chosen again! There is warmth too.
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| 📷 my pic |
Shall someone read us once again? Delightful!
Wait, it is getting awfully hot. A feeling as if we’ve been thrown across the air - there - bump! Light is all around. Flames! We are being burned! What is going on? I thought humans cherished books, depended on words, read stories to learn and grow.
Oh, this hurts. Pages are curling up, embers are flitting about. I cannot scream, I cannot run. Only a human can save me. Perhaps somewhere there is a copy of me, of us, this book. Will anyone out there reach out to help? Put in a good word for us. Please. Theresa M
PS: Words. Books are just words, Or are they? They all have a message. And the choice to read them or not is an individual choice. Let no one make that choice for you. Read what you want. And hopefully learn something from it.
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