This piece is my way of cherishing old-fashioned books using the statement: "Books are better than eBooks because…" In no way shape or form am I downing eBooks. I am just more passionate about the physical pages in a book. There's something innately intimate about it all. I hope you find a story to inspire you today, no matter how you read it. Good vibes to you!

The feel of a book is like no other

The paper reminiscent of newfound treasure

Golden words spilling from each corner

Pages drawing you in

The light of an eBook screen only providing half the story

As you struggle to wonder

What the adventure may have felt like

How that page revealing the plot smelled

For there is no other scent like a book in this wide world

New, containing a unique fragrance of fresh print

Old, of aged space and time, classics sticking out anywhere

Just as the reflection of yourself against new technology

Though good, but it is not the same

For us "older souls" crave the touch of withered spines

Or the soft swish of flipping through an updated title

With our drinks in hand or food nearby,

It is the book that keeps us half sane in this completely insane world

We fight to read biographies of heroes in old library chairs

We make a fuss to read fiction in new book corners of make-shift collections

Maybe it's just us, but nothing can compare

It would never be the same

My soul would crumble,

Not being able to hold something that is just as important

As the air I breathe

Or the food I eat

Such are stories that keep my imagination strong

And my dreams more realistic

Like the brave people I read about who risked

So much of themselves to create the world they wanted

Such is the inspiration

Through books in their true form

Nothing wrong with the warm glow of an electric-powered tale

Light, illuminating the space as sadness descends on a tragedy

Or unrequited love creeps into the night-mode lit screen

But oh, how much it means to have that same tragedy

Catch a stray tear from your eye as you try to decipher what has happened

And how that unrequited love tears you so, that you clutch the spine to your chest

In our dramatic fashion

In our search for stories other than our own

Leave me to my pages

May the same stories fill your screens

As they've written themselves inklings against my soul

Long live the pages, the true heroes