Paper Life

There are many books sitting on shelves across the world who will never be read. There are many other books who will forever be kept close, read by many people and many times by each person.

How marvelous are the books who are forever being opened and passed on, who sit by bedsides and are the very inspiration for the lives of others. These books may never have a day to rest, but are overjoyed to be so important to the world. Their spines may be broken, dust covers lost, pages torn, and corners dog-eared. They may be covered in dirt from the places they are dragged, scribbled with writing, rebound, and faded. But these books know they are loved.

How pitiful are the books who are left untouched. They sit waiting to be opened and their souls uncovered. The keeper may not recognize the title, or these stories may not yet even have keepers. They are left unread to gather dust and impress shallow humans, alone for the rest of their existence. Some of the well-known ones or the young ones may have a future in a well-read home, but for the others there is no future except a deadly pulp mill.

The more daring books may venture to sit in a bookstore and try to be bought by an individual human. Those whose are fortunate enough to be bought usually end up content in a small library of a single home; a more glamorous existence. The others are sent to be mulched or pulped, living only a short life of reckless hope.

The more cautious would choose to be part of a library. There, there is plenty of company, but no permanent owner or permanent home. Many temporary keepers are abusive, others are careful and respectful, and the books never know when they will be returned to their home. It is more dependable to be content than a bookstore, but more humble of an existence.

An electronic book in the eyes of a paper one is a robot. There is no tangible soul to an e-book. The words may mean just as much and have souls themselves, but there is nothing to hold them together. It can be copied into a new one that is exactly the same. It's existence is merely a fleeting moment of bliss, then nothing at all.

What kind of book am I?

My Many Lives

Sometimes I don't like the real world. I'd rather escape to somewhere else.

I would rather be a dragon rider, sharing my journey with my mythical-beast friend. I would learn the spell-casting languages of the naturally born spell casters. I would practice my sword fighting and become the best sword master in all the land. I would fly beyond the known with my dragon companion, taking on new adventures with my newly honed combat skills.

I would rather be a star-fleet officer, trailblazing a path through the unknown reaches of space. I would encounter new peoples and create diplomatic relations between races with whom we were enemies before. Nothing would stand in my way of unifying and learning about the universe. Anyone who would try I would gladly take as a new challenge.

I would rather be a small-town girl who meets the boy of her dreams. I would chase after him with all my might and only hope he would realize my existence. He would somehow find that I am the girl of his dreams, and together we would face many trials. Against all odds, our love would somehow succeed. Our trials would inspire our grandchildren and foster many more love stories to come.

The many stories and tales I would love to live will never be mine, but I am happy to live them, if only while the story is being told.