Chimes
Nov 24, 2020
2 minutes
TEXT E. M. CORSA
Pages Past
Thin slices of gold edge the velvety soft paper, delicate as lace and smelling of afternoon tea. The inscriptions are faded—some in pencil—lovingly addressed to grandchildren, parents, and friends. My fingertips trace the scripts, exquisitely crafted and dated, leaving me curious about the giver and the receiver.
I have always loved books—especially the old ones barely held together
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