|Courtesy: Wikimedia Commons|
The smell of old paper
Like sweet vintage nobility
Or the nostalgia of gentle humility
Or the calm of cinnamon tea
And a sun-kissed afternoon’s serenity.
The scent of time-worn paper
Like the enduring beauty of old age
Or sweet simplicity hidden among reams of verbiage
Or the note of perfection before tea descends into bitterness
And the mellow contentment after tempestuous happiness.
The charm of moth-eaten paper
Like the lingering scent on the inside of a woman’s wrist
Or the odour of sweat and sun-soaked flowers on a summer tryst
Or the promise of tales that will never be
In a dour and limited reality.
The aroma of pale paper
Like the uncertain smile of a coy child
Or the eventual elegance of a youth once wild
Or the freshness of the bark where it once dwelt
All those miracles in this paper I have smelt.