The World of Stories

I reach for the old, weathered book.  I stroke the worn binding.  Holding it close to my face, I let the tea-stained pages brush against my cheek, breathing deeply the scent of printed paper.  Stories.  They’re only words on a page, yet the tales they tell are as tangible as life itself.  Stories.  There are all kinds of them, romance, mystery, adventure…  They can lead you anywhere, even to a strange planet, entirely different than our own.  You have only to read.

I open my book carefully, as if it may fall to pieces in my hands.  Turning each page with the utmost delicacy, I find myself lost in a world of great imagination.  Minute after minute, hour after hour, I become more and more entwined in the writer‘s words.  I live there, in a land made only of ink and paper.  I climb mountains, cross rivers and navigate through old forests, until I turn to the last page.  It is then that I realize, it is only the end of another book.  Stories.