Ode to a Book

Your pages are alligned with gold.
To me they are gold.
Not gold as in riches, but knowledge:
what really counts in the end.
The feeling of your pages between my fingers make me remember all the times that we spent together.
Late summer evenings that we spent curled up on the porch swing.
Just you and I.
Alone.
Times happy and times sad both ring through my mind.
You are my best friend.
You're always there.

Crisp Arabian nights spent on a flying carpet,
or an expedition for a long sought treasure.
No matter the adventure.
Always together.
From forbidden love to vampire sleuthing you keep me wanting more.
You are like a drug to me.
I can't live without you and your wonderous effects on me.
People ask why I settle for such a measely fortune.
I laugh in their faces.
'Tis a shame that they can not experiance this feeling.
This feeling of belonging.
Of... compasion.
That I have for you.

I'm not worthy to behold you.
No person on this earth deserves your selflessness.
You have no care for who reads you.
Gladly you let anyone have your knowledge.
IF only people would appreciate your sacrifice.
I feel as though I should repay you.
It's impossible to put a price on what you've given me.
For this I thank thee...