All I need is a firm spine, uncreased by rough hands.
I need that aroma of hazelnut, noticeable only when soft fingers leaf through
What once could have grown leaves.
All I need are the endless combinations of twenty-six letters
Printed in black ink on off-white paper.
I admire unblemished covers and pages without folds or tears.
Old books hold fond memories,
But new books are pristine and have the potential to hold memories much fonder.
How could I go on without the printed word?
I have only the endless imagination of humanity to thank,
For I could not be without the company and comfort of a book.