Old Books. Books you’ve had for years. Open them and they take you back; back to when they and you were new.
Weathered, yellowed, textured. Spines split, and that old book smell – part dust and part memory. An old book is itself a bookmark in time.
And now a monument. 20 years from now when I open an old e-book, will it sing to me when I ‘touch to scroll’? When the file is lost or deleted, will I still feel it, like the gentle itch of a lent book, never returned ? I wonder.
As much is lost as gained. It’s nice to turn back the page sometimes. Im writing this on a phone.