I sit, forgotten, underneath my owner’s bed.

My pages are yearning to be turned, wanting to be read—the ink has gone too long without being touched.

I feel the withering effect on my paper, and I know I’m not to last long.

The dust and the grime beneath the bed is getting to me, finally taking its toll. Such is the result of negligence.

I want to be found. I want to take someone on an adventure, through sorrow and joy, romance.

I want to show someone a fiery sunset on the African savannah, and have them spend an icy night underneath the star – filled sky of the Sahara.

My cover has long been cracked and mutilated, but on the inside is something more precious; something I can show you if you give me a chance.

It’s richer than the greatest diamonds, and better than the most sought – after gold.

But, despite this pondering, I am still here, taking up a small portion of forgotten space, and trying to beseech people to look for me.

Find me.