i had a dream that i wrote a book about the story of my life. took years to finish, maybe because i don't consider myself much of an author. the front cover of the book is amazing. it is wooden with millions of tiny intricate carvings that intertwine in and out of each other. while looking at it up close you can appreciate its details, and yet when you look at it from afar it paints a picture of a tree within all four seasons of the year. the corners of the cover are plated with brass and the clasp on the edge is engraved ever so delicately. i was so intrigued by the appearance of the exterior i almost forgot to even read it. i flipped up the clasp and slowly began to open the book. i couldn't help but be amazed as i thumbed through page after page. they were empty. every single page was blank. no preface, no chapters, not even a single picture. confused, i continued to check every page right to the end. disgusted, i flipped over the back of the book and my mouth dropped. the image carved into the wooden cover was almost exactly like the one found on the front, however the tree was on fire. the beautiful seasons depicted on the front were replaced with flames and smoke, the flowers replaced with ash, the birds with embers. dropping to my knees, my eyes poured, drenching the pages with salty tears.
