Weary and still like an old dusty man, it laid facing the shadows. I took it out to the light, which seemed to blind it, and opened its cracked pages sullenly. On its yellow pages, aging spots seemed to mature the language that spoke to me with a heart-warming odor that I greatly missed. Through its lines, I recalled the moments and the feelings that only I could feel, and then I started recollecting the old secret schemes. Embarrassed by my stalking eyes, it tried to hide its phrases with blushes, but I suddenly could read the meanings and the nothingness through the leaves. Heartbroken by my tearful eyes, it tried to hide its sketches with fissures, but I could still watch the words through the silhouettes of my young sights. I kept reading till the last word and entered a place of infinite calm and serenity. And like a blue melody that fades at its end, it closed with my aching hands and quietly walked off to its resting end.