Hundreds of books stand on shelves, worlds trapped in the pages. Lives intertwined between sentences.
There is no bigger friend than the book. There is no greater value than what is written.
Suddenly the world stopped.
The buses stopped.
Tireless farmers stopped running on their way to catch the morning.
There are no queues in front of the bakery.
The smell of roasted fish in the market is gone.
Nobody offers you anything in the market.
It all stopped: Have a nice day.
Now, it’s neither funny nor sad. It’s simply: fearful.
You wake up and leave, your watch tailors your day.
But today… IT DOESN’T.
The habits finally stopped.
What we dreamed of is a hard exhalation now.
Routines we hated are gone.
And now we are headless chickens.
Look out of your window. The sky is empty.
Everything is asleep.
The trains stopped.
The planes fell into sleep.
The return ticket no longer matters.
The deliveries and fast mails are gone.
The people along the riverbank are gone.
You are gone with your strong morning make-up and pretzels in the plastic bag.
The rose selling lady is gone.
The fishermen along the rivers.
The breathless old man with a newspaper under his arm running to get to the morning bus. He is gone too.
The morning habit of coffee on the sidewalk is gone.
The humour became meaningless…sad.
When everything stopped…THE BOOKS REMAINED.
