I cradled the old book,
thumbing through the pages there between them
a pale yellow stain had left its imprint.
It was as if something that had been placed there
and had endured the passing of time.
not unlike the Dead Sea scrolls I suppose
written and hidden away.
The pages had held the importance of it
their treasured words had sit for ages unread
I rubbed my fingers over the marks as if they were braille
and I could decipher them.
Holding a single page up to the light
the words began to reveal them selves
very faint and soft,
as if they were a shy child wishing not to be seen
wide eyed I looked
time had not demised their meaning.
The door opened behind me as you entered the room
closing the book I turned.