Penny for a thought?

Is this how it feels to have a blank page before you?
Will my children ever know this peculiar love/hate
relationship that ensues with it's possession?
If so, will they side with one or the other;
will they love it as I do?
Will they hate it as I do also?
I wonder.
Will there even be paper by the time they're
ready to write? Or will it always be typed;
clicking keys will lull them to sleep, I'm sure,
but there's something they'd be missing without such luxuries.
The crispness, the white, the feel of a smooth pen as it
glides into a story or poem.
The pride in flipping through pages of one's own tale
can only be matched, not by scrolling, but by holding it in one's
hand, feeling it's weight, the gravity of which should bring one back
to earth quite safely. Though the glimpse of the heaven's will still be
in their eye's. Knowing that you wrote, with patience and care, every
word, not stopping to spell check or to check one's facebook status.
But to be truly and completely enraptured by the page and pen as it
swirls into language; almost to life.
That is something I cannot either describe or appreciate more.
That is why I write, and I only hope my children will, if not write,
read and enjoy such, because these paper histories that we shelf up
and hoard, are magic incarnate and without them we'd surely be lost.
At least I know I would be, and the world too, would be lacking the
greatness in which it once held so dear, but gave away in the haze
of a silly day dream. I won't let my children's minds fizz off like
the others do; no I will fight, every day if I have to, to keep them
reading and writing, on paper if I can, and in cursive too.
These precious things must be held onto, if not for the sake of remembering
but then for the sake of knowing what once was important; only then will
they be able to discern what's truly important now, because to love the
words of our language are to love the world which it represents.
And I love that most of all.