The book! The favourite book! The book that is read over and over, then over and over some more. The book that has been battered, torn and cellotaped together. The pages worn, dog eared and yellowing, speak of a thousand turns, the cycle begun again and over. The pages, wrinkled and lined with time hidden with a tatty cover telling of an age gone by. The book knocked, discarded and thrown to crumple in a dusty corner hiding from the day, uncertain of its fate.
The fate that says stay, you are mine.
The cover once so bright, so new, so crisp, so fresh. The cover once so ready to begin its beginning, begging to be lovingly held, to be gently opened to reveal the story. The story to thrill, to excite, to awaken. The story which calls to the soul with a whisper, a promise of a dream, an escape, an adventure.
And somewhere, before the story began, a someone begun. The ink scribbling and soaking into parchment, mapping out the dizzy wild moments of imagination, the dark of pain and the light of day. Moulding, shaping a future that no other would feel. A future that another could only ever visit. A future so unique that would only be experienced by one person but shared with so many. Feelings, emotions and surprise. Love, betrayal and pain. Tears, laughters and smiles. Hope, fantasy and beauty. Sunshine, rain and storm. A path beaten to the drum of the heart.
Twists and turns of the road sewn and woven together with thread that binds a narrative and then deeply hidden within a cover. Threads of time, of family, of society, of culture. Thread of expectation, belief, morals and values. Thread of the gift called life.
Pages and threads and stories all bound within a cover, a cover once bright and new now faded and worn. For when we first are new, who knows what story we will have to tell, who knows what is within the pages of our book, what lies beneath our cover. The cover used to protect and preserve the inner most depths, the vulnerability and the fear.
And that is the cover we judge…..
But our covers, our colours, our pictures are unique. Some are bright and colourful, others dark and haunting, some fresh and delicate, some tough and heavy. But we are are not the same.
We are not the product of a writer, a designer, a marketing team, we are the product of who we are, shaped by our experience, by our moment in time, as is everyone else. True judgement takes time, time to explore, time to discover what lies beneath the cover, what shapes the story, what threads bind the pages.
The favourite book should be the one that colours the story of our life, the hopes, dreams, frustrations, the history, the family, the love and the pain. The book that once closed, once the story has ended, lives on in the memories of the people we knew, the people we loved and the ones who loved us back.
Inspired by: Daily Prompt: Judgment Day