I was speaking to a stranger today.  I shared my heart, and I've never been so relieved.

We began talking about a book of particular genuinity.  Inkheart to be specific.  Hell, if I could read aloud like Mo or Meggie, the world would be putty in my hands.  I could write my utopia and read it true.  

If only I could.  My utopia would be genuine.  I don't want power.  I'm not power hungry.  

Internet would still exist, but only because of Facebook and Protagonize.  There wouldn't be so any trashy TV shows.  I'd do away with television entirely, but some movies are just too good to give up.  Finding Neverland, for example.  Or Paulie. I could list an entire library, but I don't feel like it.  All of the music is free-- hell there isn't any money at all.  A deeper sense of community exists, and we trade for what we need.  

Some call that primitive, uncivilized.  I call that rational.  

There is not one person who doesn't like to read.  Everyone understands just how powerful and beautiful and terrible words really are, the magic held in each letter. Everyone says precisely what they mean, no bold-faced lies and two-faced back-stabbing.

If anything is going to be done right, it's done at night, where the magic is a little bit stronger.  

To all of this, he responded "This is a little depressing."

I replied telling him he was exactly correct.  We shouldn't have to only dream of perfection and peace and kindliness. People should already have manners and respect for one another. No life should be valued more than another. We're all human, and that's both our blessing and our downfall.

When someone makes a mistake, they do not deny the simple truth of the matter.  There is no cowering behind excuses and tentatively pointing the blame unto another innocent.  

When he told me I'd read the thoughts right out of his mind, plucked them as if from thin air, I said I suppose the truth of the heart is felt through shared ethics and proper values that seem lost in a world so fast-paced.

I have always felt this way, deep down in my heart.  The stories I've read have shaped most of who I am.  Sometimes I prefer the company of a book over that of a real person.  I can trust books.  They're more welcoming than my peers, and they don't lie to me.  A book knows how to communicate better than any person I've ever met.

And they smell good, like nutmeg or some other comforting spice I can't put a name to.

"That's an incredible perspective.  It's so rare to find that nowadays."  He said.

He's right, true enough.  No one reads anymore-- I've never found anyone my age who reads as much as I do.  My books taught me more respectable ethics than my own parents, in a way.

Believe me, I'm not saying my parents were useless in that respect.  On the contrary, they taught me a lot.  

I only wish that the rest of the world would wake up and smell the roses, face the truth and look it in the eyes.  Maybe a smile could play at their lips, reaching their eyes.  

If only I weren't stuck dreaming.

The End

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