Warmer than the rays bursting from the sun.
A glare on the glass, like the wall between the clarity of vision and the fog in the road ahead.
Walking upon an edge of assumption.
Flipping through pages of the last novel read.
Trying to find that one place that caught our smiles and made us keep moving forward.
It's a sense of distraction so relatable it can't be put down.
Why put it down anyways?
Only to be known as the binding, of a book on a shelf, untouched.
Growing layers of dust.
Just give it a chance.
Sit back and start with the first page.
Keep going and see what's really inside.
A world full of heart.
A person.
A soul.
A life, feeling and all.
Rippled pages.
A sign of the tears dropped.
All things painful and joyful.
Stories untold.
