Hands shaking with excitement,
You open the book,
The binding creaks.

Soft, ancient, and clever,
The pages whisper to you in leafy voices
As you turn them.

Your eyes scan the words.
You leave the real world behind,
And become one with the story.

The inky characters paint you wonderful images,
Of worlds unheard of and beings unknown.

You smell the spectacular and horrible scents,
Feel the character’s joy and pain,
Hear the mysterious and sensual hum of the cosmos.

Suddenly, you hear the echo of a voice
From the real world,
Calling to you.

Your eyes wrench away from the pages,
Your mind’s soul is ripped
And plucked from the tale.

Your bookmark slips neglected into its new dwelling,
Sly, swift, and quick,
And the binding groans,
Painfully, brittle, and fragile,
As you are reluctantly taken over by the real world.