They patiently wait to be read while sitting on wood, under the back seat of a car, or at a friend’s house. They stay just where I put ’em and remind me of things. They don’t bite, hit, spit, jump out at me, or run away. I can bend their backs and mark them up so that I can hear their words better.
I’ve heard them in English, Greek, Hebrew, Spanish, and learned a little from some in Indonesian, German, French, Arabic and Russian. I’ve even burnt a few (heretics mostly), but they never complained. I buy them eagerly and house them at home, but I do not sell my companions quickly. I may need their words of wisdom one day. I’d rather give them away.
I learned to stay inside with them when it rains; they become rotten and distorted if I leave them outside too long. A few are colored or international or even multidimensional, but most are black and white and from America. Yet, those from here have taken me farthest: to solar systems light years away, to natives in Irian Jaya, to ancient China, and to the squalor of New York City. I’ve explored the beginnings of the universe with them and their contents have enabled me to grow in a new life.
I’ve seen my insides in them and some tell me what’s on my mind, but I don’t mind. When I’m finished with one I may give it to a friend or to schools. I have many companions, but my favorite ones all say the same thing: Jesus loves you.