Monday, April 2, 2012

The written page, as opposed to virtual insanity

The problem of the internet is that it does not appeal to all senses. There is no feel for each page you've gone through, or that familiar smell of an old book. There is no pleasure in seeing imperfection in the print or that gentle rustling that is made at the completion of a page as you turn it. No Sir, you cannot feel it, and that is part of the experience.

There are no pages to be filled with tears as you find out the heroes die. No satisfaction of moving that bookmark further along as you finally understand the characters and unravel the story. There is no underlining that line that defines your life right now. There is nothing to touch when you want to turn back the page and relive the story. There is nothing to love, to hold, to hate, to question.

I love books. I love books because they are solid and concrete. As I turn each page and smell the sweet scent of paper, I know I've touched the stories and those far away castles and adventures and people in them I love so dearly.

And this is how I hold on to them.

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