Disappearing World

I long to see people hidden behind their books as they read.

Remember holding a book with both of your hands to keep it open?

Being completely dedicated to it?

Or the feeling of flipping to the next page?

The smell of an old book is overwhelming.

But isn’t that what adds character to the story?

The smell of dust reminding you of the age of the book?

Reading a book is like chocolate covered pretzels.

Sweet and salty all at once.

It’s the taste of hot chamomile tea on a rainy evening.

It’s continuously eating sugar coated blueberries while being engaged with the plot.

The flopping a page being turned,

the closing of a book when the reader gets to the end.

That is seldom to be heard.

As I look around, I see everyone from children to the elderly,

immersed in their devices.

Now there are thumps as people drop their books for their phones.

The weight of books seems to be too much for people.