Dearest Kindle,
Many times our paths have crossed...and yet I still don't know how to look at you. You seduce me with your young features. You tantalize me with your sleek design. Oh, how I would feel if I could just hold you in my arms.
And yet, I pause. Some things are just too good to be true. Once, on an otherwise festive night, I had given up on you. Then, like a shot in the dark, catching me completeley off guard; you lowered your price from 399 to 299. I have to admit, I felt my arms loosen, ready for an embrace. But only for a moment. That's what I would give you, dearest kindle. Only moments. For every time I'd find myself crawling in your direction, I'd find portable readers equal, if not better, than your charming looks and exclusive features.
Doubts bubbled in my head, even when you lowered your price again. Then you became slimer, then wider again. Lord knows what I should do with you because you still draw me in.
But then I thought further, and those thoughts led me to concrete conclusions. To break it to you kindly, dear, when, and if, I should travel - I wouldn't be pleased if I was stopped short, taken for a ride, backhanded by my own love affair with you. Why, I could have any book in the world and yet here you would sit, in my palms, on a train, plane, bus, or even short cab fare, and you'd go bust. You'd ignore me even as I would push your buttons. You'd stiff me for the heel I am, because I fell in love with you at one point. How could I go on like that - with a book that breaks?
You spell more trouble for me but there is that slight curiosity that bubbles as well. Would you stay with me for long? Would we last? What if I had lost you? Would I feel robbed of our time together. And worse, what if someone else had gotten a hold of you. You, my potential kindle. Where would I be then?
It was a cheery day, the day I found you had taken the literary cupcake out of many men and women's hands. I'll never forget it. George Orwell, the man who I've only read once, was the man you sneered at the most. His book was 1984, the same year I was born into this world. What a cynically depressing and ironic turn it should be that you would take that gem away from people - my birthright. Can love giveth and taketh away that easily? How can I tolerate this any longer? Many men and women trusted you, provided for you, gave you a home, some by a roaring fire. They should have tossed you into the kindle, kindle. When should I trust you? When should I hold you?
Until I decide what is best for me, I must think of you no longer. Our correspondence might continue on and it might not. The best you can hope to wish from me would be a shorter letter and probably a shorter temperament at that.
Am I still in love with you? I do not know.
Ta-ta, Kindle. May you find your place in the world.
Sincerely,
Roberto
(The man who once fell for you)
"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood." — George Orwell (1984)
Many times our paths have crossed...and yet I still don't know how to look at you. You seduce me with your young features. You tantalize me with your sleek design. Oh, how I would feel if I could just hold you in my arms.
And yet, I pause. Some things are just too good to be true. Once, on an otherwise festive night, I had given up on you. Then, like a shot in the dark, catching me completeley off guard; you lowered your price from 399 to 299. I have to admit, I felt my arms loosen, ready for an embrace. But only for a moment. That's what I would give you, dearest kindle. Only moments. For every time I'd find myself crawling in your direction, I'd find portable readers equal, if not better, than your charming looks and exclusive features.
Doubts bubbled in my head, even when you lowered your price again. Then you became slimer, then wider again. Lord knows what I should do with you because you still draw me in.
But then I thought further, and those thoughts led me to concrete conclusions. To break it to you kindly, dear, when, and if, I should travel - I wouldn't be pleased if I was stopped short, taken for a ride, backhanded by my own love affair with you. Why, I could have any book in the world and yet here you would sit, in my palms, on a train, plane, bus, or even short cab fare, and you'd go bust. You'd ignore me even as I would push your buttons. You'd stiff me for the heel I am, because I fell in love with you at one point. How could I go on like that - with a book that breaks?
You spell more trouble for me but there is that slight curiosity that bubbles as well. Would you stay with me for long? Would we last? What if I had lost you? Would I feel robbed of our time together. And worse, what if someone else had gotten a hold of you. You, my potential kindle. Where would I be then?
It was a cheery day, the day I found you had taken the literary cupcake out of many men and women's hands. I'll never forget it. George Orwell, the man who I've only read once, was the man you sneered at the most. His book was 1984, the same year I was born into this world. What a cynically depressing and ironic turn it should be that you would take that gem away from people - my birthright. Can love giveth and taketh away that easily? How can I tolerate this any longer? Many men and women trusted you, provided for you, gave you a home, some by a roaring fire. They should have tossed you into the kindle, kindle. When should I trust you? When should I hold you?
Until I decide what is best for me, I must think of you no longer. Our correspondence might continue on and it might not. The best you can hope to wish from me would be a shorter letter and probably a shorter temperament at that.
Am I still in love with you? I do not know.
Ta-ta, Kindle. May you find your place in the world.
Sincerely,
Roberto
(The man who once fell for you)
2 comments:
I'm such a lover of books, that I can't even think about parting with my paper to read my books on a screen.
Loved this!
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