A Shrine of stories

Soft, smooth,
It beckons to me,
I run my fingers down the leathery cover,
It rustles with delight as I slowly, carefully lift its cover, breathing in its bookish aroma,
And turn the page,
My book is a secret shrine of stories and memories,
The book reaches out and wraps its papery arms around me,
And, to me, it whispers all its hidden secrets,
As I begin my voyage on a vast sea of wondrous words,
I remember how my book came to me,
A long ago concert, a faraway fear,
And a girl who danced on a stage for the first time,
These memories will never leave me,
And my parents’ words I will never forget,
They are imprinted in time, memories, inside the cover of my book,
I sail through doldrums and crashing waves,
Harsh storms and violent gaols,
Until finally, I reach the safety of my home port,
Gently, I close my book and place it on the shelf,
Then unto it, I place a parting kiss.