Your country is a bookshelf.
Your state, your city, your town, your neighborhood.
Scattered along sidewalks,
sorted throughout schools,
sitting in shops,
are books.
Hardcover, paperback.
Dusty, pristine,
and everything in between.

Some flutter open as you walk by,
Others remain sewn shut,
only revealing their words to a tangible force.

Words in books remain static,
untouched until somebody comes along to interpret them.
What is a story if not read?
What is a bookshelf if not stuffed full?

You must read those around you.
Open their pages,
allow them to annotate across your own story.
Fill the bookshelf.

As humans, we each have our own story.
The intersections of these stories—
when words are interpreted given another’s perspective—
give meaning,
compose unseen messages.
Your state, your city, your town, your neighborhood.
Your country.
Is founded upon these intersections.

So, if the books remain unread,
the words printed, but never interpreted,
The bookshelf will remain empty,
collecting dust and what could’ve been.

You must read the stories around you.
You must open your eyes,
make sense of the words surrounding you,
or your community will cease to exist.