Reading is something that I love doing. In fact, it is part of the reason why I now have eyeglasses on (as an addition to the genes passed on to me). But I am not going to bore you with my ‘explanation’ why reading is equated to me having glasses.
One of the things I love doing right now is to actually go through book sales and find books. I love books. Period. So I do not care if it is old or if it is new. But I like those in book sales because they are cheaper (yeah. cheapskate.). And what matters to me is that I am able to read the pages and not how it looks.
There is also a definite scent that goes with old books. I don’t know. But I love that. But come to think of it, old or new, the smell of books just is that appealing to me.
Anyway, during one of my hunts for some good books for sale, I realized something. See, each time I would get my share of books and take them home, I have this habit of going through the pages once I am about to start reading one. And oftentimes, I find something interesting in these old books. Like maybe a piece of paper that was used as a bookmark which holds a note or a task that was to be done. Or maybe a ticket for a benefit concert in 1982 (which I found last week). Or maybe a dried flower. Or maybe some scribbles or notes about the book or what-have-you. I find these amazing.
Maybe it reminds me much of Serendipity but maybe not. See, I have had this fascination for such even before the movie was shown. Maybe it’s the thought that somebody else handled this book and somebody else had been through the pages that I am currently reading. And maybe that is what is interesting – the fact that that one book has allowed a number of people to enjoy the same thing but at different periods.
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