Once upon a time, there was a boy, and he dreamed that he was sitting in a rowing boat that did not move, and the ocean was made entirely of books, waves upon waves of books, static, frozen, inescapable, terrifying and lonely ...
But it was then that magic came on soft sweet wings, and he took a deep breath, stood up, turned around and remembered that he was magic, that he held all the magic of the ages, for he was alive and this was his dream.
The magic child remembered that he could fly, and do many other things besides. So up he rose, high above the ocean of books and words, and there, he looked down on them all and he felt sad, for books need readers to come alive and fill their dreams of being loved, and wanted.
He started to cry with the sadness of the lonely books, and his tears fell from high, crystalline they were and magic in every way, and when the first tear touched the first page of the very first book, the spell of the ages was broken - like great birds, all the books took wing then, for each one was a heartfelt wish to help all others, and hours and days of love and care were in every one, and all they rose, and all they sought and found a reader, somewhere, somewhen, somehow - and a billion entities across time and space that day, that night, found a new friend.
And what of the boy? With the books gone, there was the beach, the cove, the ocean, the skies, his playground, all the world.
Inspired by a picture ...