Other Pages

I can remember all the way back to the trees. The feeling of birds lighting from one branch to another.  Before my fibers were dredged and pulped, strained and pressed. I remember the day my seams were bound and I became anew again.
I recall each drop of ink which dried into symbols, illuminated a man’s inner world, filled me with his universe. I was imbued with new meanings, some i didn’t know at first but came to understand as the ink set. 

Passed through many hands and shop windows, the next thing I choose to remember indellibly was the feel of her hands, which passed over my covers, fingered the leaves of each of my pages time and time again with intense care. That is how I came to know love. Love for her and for all the dreams I represented.  For her, the love one human can transmit to another through worlds crafted by word. She loved me because I was the vehicle which brought her closer to him. I was the vessle which passed his painted world to her.

She carreid me in a large bag- there was the smell of damp burlap and the muffled sound of her belongings jostling and settling again the day she took me to see him. Where I met my Maker. I knew him immediately by the sound of his voice, so filled with love. A deep and resonant purr. He picked me up with strong, knotted hands not unlike the knots my own form used to know… the hands of God took up fresh ink and scrawled additional words between the sheets to consumate their bond in me.

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