Why don't words on a page stretch from end to end,
filling every available inch?
Are the margins just empty space,
or something more?
Room to discover and doodle.
Putter and ponder.
React and relate.
Where emotions blossom
and identity takes shape
as one mind meets another in a dance
between
sentences.
Without the margins, writing is just words on a page.
But with them, each of us
is invited to leave our mark
in the endless conversation
between books
and the people that love them.
Why do pages have margins?
Because the beginning, middle, and end is only half the story...
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