Have you ever pondered the life of a used book? Whose hands it graced before falling into yours?
The other day, as I was about to begin one of the assigned poetry books for my English senior seminar, I noticed an inscription on its title page.
It’s a love note of sorts…
To mine sweetie,
who loves nature so much,
A love gift…
I couldn’t help but feel that I was intruding on a little secret between two lovers, a poignant love note that I had no right to read. It’s funny because I write that with the full knowledge that I am publicly sharing this note on my very public blog. At the same time, the book is in my hands. I own it now…and such a curiosity is worth sharing.
And I wonder–who is John? Who was his sweetie? In the space of eighteen years, how did this book that was given with so much thoughtfulness end up in my hands?
What is this book’s story?