Dear Pretty Book,
It’s the early hours of dawn as I write to you. My sleep has been disturbed and I sit here wrestling with my thoughts. I know not what else to do but write this letter in hopes that it will calm my spirit.
Overall things feel much better here on the shelf. For the first time since I was written I’ve been making my own decisions making me a happier book overall. But I still long for a reader and decided to host an open house to bring readers from far and wide to the bookstore. It hasn’t been that successful, but I wasn’t discouraged. Until today.
Today I visited with an old friend just recently taken from the store. We shared news and updates from our lives over tea. It was great to laugh and chat in one another’s company. Until she tells me of his fingers on her pages and the joy they have together when the sun sets. “It’s magical and it’s worth the wait” She says.
Pretty Book, I’m not sure why, but just those words angered me. I lay awake at this hour with tears in the seams of my book over those words.
I feel angry. At my situation. At my inability to effect my situation. At my Bookkeeper who keeps me here for reasons I’m not privy to. That my distress and dissapointment do not move Him. That I wait against my will.
I’m angry that no one prepared me for the possibility of never leaving the shelf. That I wasted my opportunity to become a library book of one nightstands with casual readers. That I’m the last one here. That it is truly magical. That it’s just out of reach. That it isn’t for me.
This year I will be a 26 year old book that has never been opened; full of regret and doubt.
The Plain Book