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You Don't Have To Talk... Harvey Kennett
The next time you are waiting at a bus stop, or on a railway station, or shopping in the supermarket, pause for a moment and look at the people around you.
Don’t make it too obvious, for human beings scare easily and you may give cause for alarm. Just manage a quick glance in their general direction. Enough for you to sum up what sort of book that person is.
Yes, that’s right. What sort of book.
I believe we are all one sort of book or another. We all have a story to tell. Each of us is comprised of pages and chapters. Some incomplete, others hastily written, some penned with military precision and some a slapdash gathering of random thoughts and events that litter the pages.
Some books are unfathomable. Their words so alien to us that we cannot even begin to understand the contents. Such books we want to immediately put down, or throw away.
Other books are like a lexicon of love, their stories enchanting and warm to the human eye.
The first book I read, was an old woman in my supermarket, when I was 17 years old.
Her pages were battered and torn, and creases ran the length of her cover. I could see from the spine, as she bent over the fresh vegetables, that her bindings were falling apart. She was a thick book, like many of her age, and the lustre of newness had lost its sheen. She kept talking to herself, and I sensed that she was a book that once had a loyal and loving reader, but who had passed away and left her on the shelf, forgotten and alone.
It was some years before I read another book, when I was 21 years old.
In truth, I had not gone out that evening with the intention to find a book, it just sort of happened. She was 16 years old, and her cover was an alluring enigma to me. She thrust her story upon me, before I had even had a chance to say “hello” and I was plunged in to the chapters of her life before I had even realised what happened.
The story took several climatic twist and turns, as each page yielded revelation after revelation. A less mature reader might have put the book back on its shelf, but I was intrigued. Love, loss, pain and hope assaulted me from every page, and in the short space of a few hours, I just knew I had to take the book home.
I read to the early hours until and the sun came up, and she had to be returned to her library.
As I drove her home, I kept thinking to myself, “There must be more; this story is too good to end.”
14 years later, she is now part of my collection, and takes pride and place upon the shelves of my own humble library. Together, we have penned many great chapters together, some sad, some happy, but all exciting and with out own hands.
Together, we have written the greatest story ever told, and cast ourselves as the lead characters. The locations we have used have been some of the most wonderful locations that a story can be set against.
The greatest part of all is that the story still evolves to this day, and I am fortunate to have played a part in its design. To think that I may never have picked up this book is like an opportunity that was almost missed.
Next time you find yourself without a book, just trying reading the people around you. You may be shy, that’s ok.
You don’t have to talk.
Just read.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Some really great ideas, i wish i could of thought of something so simple but yet so genius at the same time. " -- Moses Constable.
"I find it interesting that you related people to books. Being a shy girl, I never really thought of reading someone as a book but it makes complete sense. Such a genious idea!" -- Nicole, Chicago, IL, USA.
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