Weathered Pages

But it's so hard to explain how much these musty old pages mean to me. For the hands that held the book I now hold so tenderly belonged to those who have lived and died long before my time. You may think it's droll to hold onto these weathered books but there's a bit more that you do not know. For the impressions they have left across the pages hold untold stories that I wish I could hear. But I wonder if they would have been able to comprehend how such imperceptible marks could mean so much to me if someone had told them, so long ago. Would they have laughed at the absurd truth or worried about a time when they would cease to exist? These are the people I never had the honor of meeting for I have to settle for tracing the remnants of their legacy. They have walked this earth long before I, but what I share with them has now exceeded blood. I take the time to read the words, cherishing this connection I hold onto by a thread. For what I have is indescribable as I do not yet posses the ability to put these feelings into words. I hope for a day that my descendants may read these beautiful expressions and hold onto me as I hold onto them.