26 June 2012
I long for the comfort of pages. To know that they're merely there, Sitting unread upon my shelf... Break their spines, I wouldn't dare. I treat them with respect, Knowing their support is one That can't ever be replaced, Unconditional to what I've done. I've been away from them for a while. I miss that funny smell, Of yellowing paper and ink... That comfort me so well. Their stories embedded in my heart, But those pages so neatly read. No corner bent or broken, No injured spine to call them dead. They're truly all mine, Perfect to this day. I've more to add to the collection, That I swear will not fray.
(I'm OCD about my books, all the ones upon my bookshelf ate still in their bought condition! And the anxiety that more are arriving for me to both read and shelve... Well I guess I'm... Odd) ©Odd
Bought Books • Opuss № I