The notebook crackled as she opened it, the paper was so flimsy as if it would tater at the slightest touch, the pages adorned with doodles and quotes. She carefully turned each page, as gentle as possible. She read through the quotes the rough drafts and the scribbles, took her time reading each word of those long stories and short passages. She felt the imprints the pen had left through her finger tips and leaved through the folded papers that were cut outs and written by a type writer. She loved each word, and felt the pain, the joy, the pleasure that went through the pages. A magic land rose from those delicate paper and enveloped her inside each word. The frayed ribbon book mark led her to browned pages. Pressed among the folds was a picture, the colors of which were so bright compared to the notebook, yet it held a dullness that cased in the charm.
She touched the photo and began to read;
'Golden confetti fell through the sky, as hand in hand they ran the familiar stone paths, two sets of feet padding through the center of the town, while the rest slept, fullfilling their well earned sleep. The abandoned bicycles lay somewhere near the park, the gathered flowers fallen on the gritty road. Others slept, while they ran, they ran though joy and they ran with love as the golden confetti fell through the sky.'
One of the many that got to her, she couldn't help be lost in those words and couldn't help the imagery go, she was stuck on it and stared at it for ages, until finally she turned another page and further.
-Momina.
*Note: The whole passage is self-written and based on the single picture above.
