I miss you. And I’m not gonna lie, I tried to find you everywhere after you’re gone. To try to win you back. But I guess you’re gone forever now. I thought you might still be hanging out with that friend of mine from high school but— I don’t know. I remember you two were together for some time, weren’t you? And yes, before you ask me, I did try to move on. I even went online to find a similar you. Several times, actually. But I guess you are unique. Aren’t you? A limited-edition. Oh god, where are you?
If there’s any consolation to my unfortunate soul, I still remember the good times we had as if it were yesterday. I remember stealing you from the library, holding you with in my hands, running like a criminal, taking you with me to a safe place so I could enjoy every moment with you alone. I admired your cover like a prize I’d just had won. I flipped your pages and annotated on your margins with no intent whatsoever to return you to that library. Oh, vivid images. Remember when I tore the borrowing card inside the pocket on your back cover? It was a rebel act. But also my way to tell you you were mine then and I didn’t care about any other person who read you before me.
And I never put you down, did I? Once I held you in my hands, I read every word printed on your pages, turning them eagerly, without even blinking. I’m sorry that I left some bread crumbles fall on you, but I cleaned you, didn’t I? I fought against the night, I fought against my eyes almost ready to give up to close and sleep, and I regained the energy by forcing to read more from your ink, to read you to the end. I managed to read you in one sit. And then, what did I do? I lended you to some friend and he (or she?) never returned you to my shelf, like I never returned you to that library.
And I’m telling the truth. I went online, I even found a similar book with a similar cover. It looked so much like you in the photo that I thought for a moment that it could be you, put online to be sold as a cheap thrift shop item by that friend that borrowed you from me, ages ago. How would they dare do it, tho? They wouldn’t. It wasn’t you. It just wasn’t…
All I know now is that YOU are the reason. You are the reason why I never lend books. Why I never let anyone even touch the books on my shelf. But we’re never gonna see each other again, will we? I only hope you’re not filled with dust behind old books on a forgotten shelf at the house of whoever took you forever from me. But if you are. Filled with dust. These words are for you. And now you know I haven’t forgotten you. I miss you. Limited edition book, stolen from a school library. Mine and not mine anymore.
Easy come, easy go… If I ever find you again, I’ll dust you off.
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Now, question: do you lend books? And what do you with your books after you finish reading them?