May 28, 2017 by thewashingteenian
By Isabella Hendershot, Staff Reporter
The books in my hands
The books in my hands are another world completely
It’s not just about a story of a fictional person,
But it’s about how you get lost in the words written or typed.
When I open a book i can smell the ink and new or old pages.
When I hear the pages ripple it’s like music to my ears.
The smooth, soft, silky and supple cover beneath my fingers,
it puts a smile on my face.
A brand new book in my hands is treated like glass or a delicate flower,
I almost don’t want to read it because I don’t want to bend the pages,
make creases in the spine, ruin the flat and glossy cover.
I always look at the cover first.
I look at the light or dark colors,
Designs printed on the front along with the title.
The book “blurb” is next, if I’m interested enough the book is added to my collection.
The back is then read over and over until I read the book.
If my book is damaged it breaks my heart,
I can feel and hear it crack and break into pieces.
My books are what bring me happiness,
They are what give me writing ideas,
They are my escape.