All I need is a firm spine, uncreased by rough hands.

I need that aroma of hazelnut, noticeable only when soft fingers leaf through

What once could have grown leaves.

All I need are the endless combinations of twenty-six letters

Printed in black ink on off-white paper.  

I admire unblemished covers and pages without folds or tears.

Old books hold fond memories,

But new books are pristine and have the potential to hold memories much fonder.

How could I go on without the printed word?

I have only the endless imagination of humanity to thank, 

For I could not be without the company and comfort of a book. 

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