You’re a funny little book,
torn pages and crayon scrawls,
dog-ears and nothing smells
torn pages and crayon scrawls,
dog-ears and nothing smells
And big meanings in little words
(and little meanings in big words)
you make me want to get up and do things,
sit down and cry
the smell newness, eagerness in your pages,
other times, an oldness
(old book smells choke me)
People tell me how my books should be,
I know I have a strange collection
(I know reading in the dark damages my eyes)
But still I read. I forget. Until someone reminds me,
“The sun has set.”
hmmm this book reminds me of my hiking boots
well
my mum took my hiking boots away
hold on to this book
you have no idea what a pleasure it is to see you writing again.
I think books bear testiment to the trnasformation in our lives…the frustration, angst and joy…its almost like they're spectators in our lives.