My mom found this book a few years ago in the recesses of our garage
and because she loves to read just as much as I do, she quickly snapped it up and put it on her bookshelf. But, as the years went by and her life got busier and busier, she never got a chance to read it. And so it stayed there, sitting lonely next to a few manuals and some bills.
That is, until a few days ago when I saw it in my parents’ room, took it from the dusty shelf and carried it to my room where I eagerly opened it, ready for the wonderful words of Robert Frost to pour over me.
However, when I opened the book to the first page, I realized that I had something better than a book of poems in my hands; I had a memento from someone else’s past.
How sweet is that note? When I saw it, I just sat there and hugged the book to my chest, because that was really all I could do when I saw how meaningful this book must have been to whoever owned the book.
I’m carrying someone’s memories in my hands, and the pages I turn are coated with history and love. Because of this, the yellowing, used book tells a bigger story than the crisp, white pages of the newer books stacked on my shelf; it tells a story of friendship, of love and of remembrance.
Hugging it closer to me now, I know that I will treasure this book forever, and hopefully, when the time comes, this book will find another owner who loves it just as much as its previous owners did.