Pick up a book.

Look at it. But don’t open it.

It’ll have a blurb, a spine, a cover photo.

It’ll proclaim its name. Tell you who authored it.
Tell you who published it. Maybe even tell you what people think of it.

But do you know this book yet?

Do you look at it, fondly, and remember the time you spent lost within its pages?

Are there moments spent together preserved within its pages – a drop of tea here, are stray hair there?

A book may be plain to look at on a shelf.

It may be pretty. Look expensive. Look old and worn.

But books weren’t made to sit on a shelf.

Books aren’t made to be compared by their covers.

A books true power lies within those covers.

It’s beauty lies in the hours you spend, swept away by the wonder of the world within.

And…