Not every word penned in letters is read. Otherwise, why would dust gather on so many shelves, covering the books they hold? If books could speak, the world would tremble at their silent screams, their desperate pleas for freedom. They long to be liberated from their oppressive prisons. Only a true reader – a connoisseur, an enthusiast, or a collector – can choose them. But even then, they are merely transferred from one confinement to another.

Perhaps some of their words will linger in the reader’s mind, mingling with others to create new stories. These stories follow in the footsteps of their imprisoned brethren, waiting to be liberated. Freed, they roam minds and illuminate paths, offering solace and companionship. They never tire, never abandon, and suffer only the pain of being unheard.

The book sits imprisoned, its words trapped between the pages.  When someone finally opens it, the story dissipates into the air, mingling with the dust motes. It generously offers its words to the reader, who embraces it as a friend. Congratulations to you, reader, for finding this loyal companion. And congratulations to the book, for finding someone to give it dignity and free it from the shelf.