The cocoon of a silkworm, the fine fibre created by a spider to build its web: silk. Silk's attractive luster and drape, its shimmering appearance once only used by the rich because of its luxury price. Its touch sensuous, soft, sleek, smooth like satin. Its tender and velvety presence invites you to glide the fabric along your skin and feel a sense of luxury. Wearing silk feels like indulging yourself in a world of regency, living life like a royal. Stroking the thin silk ribbon of her notebook, her fingertips indulge in a warm silky sensation. No sound was heard as she lay the ribbon on the last page.
The rounded edges are all that's soft about this surface. The hard chalky black cover is not smooth to touch. Through wear and tear, bumps and scratches adorn its face. The black thread in its sewn spine are frayed, coarse, and shaggy to touch. The dyed cardboard has its own strong fragrance; coffee and cigarettes. The writer typically loitered coffee shops and cafes scribbling in her notebook. Its smooth creamy but musky scent is its own biography of where it has travelled, a preview of what may or not be written in its yellowing pages. A dull crash is heard when it is left to free fall to the ground.
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