What can you hold without ever touching it?

I sleep inside unfinished dreams, pressed between the printed scenes. No voice, no ink, yet still I guide, what am I that waits inside?

Hold me close, don’t break the seal, a cold wind here can be a big deal. I wrap you tight, keep warmth concealed, without me on, the chill outside is revealed.

I have keys but no locks, space but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. I help you write and work every day. What am I?

I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, yet I come alive with wind. I can repeat what you say, but I never understand it. What am I?