I AM A BOOK. Opened by many. Read by few. Understand by one.
My covers are illusions. Alluring yet dangerous. Yet still many tried to unravel me.
Too many tried. Too many failed.
For their eyes only see what’s visible, neglecting what’s beyond the canvas.
Few. Too few have crossed the boundaries and read between the lines. But my words are powerful.
And my sentences are explosion that shattered those who read. Confused those who depict.
After one crack, one explosion, most of them turned their backs away leaving the book behind.
But one stayed.
Despite every dead pages and ugly sheet of papers, you remain.
Despite every missing lines and loose words, you hang on.
You lived with the fragility of the book.
You accepted the imperfection and blemishes.
You understand that understanding is not always ‘knowing all’.
That understanding is tolerance.
That understanding is acceptance.
And you said “the book changes you”.
But what you don’t know is you changed the book more than it changes you.
It became your best friend.
It is yours like no one ever have. Never, ever have.
And the book always loves you back.
Because she is a book. Opened by many. Read by few.Understand by one.