A Well Loved Book

Taking care

I loved books so dearly that I read them while keeping them in pristine condition. I was careful about where I read, and if a book ventured out into the world with me, it traveled safely in a Ziploc bag. They often looked untouched. To me, they were tender storytellers, and I treated them with gentleness.

Reinventing books

In university, during my Fine Arts studies, my professor gave us an assignment: use an old book instead of a sketchbook for our weekly two-dimensional explorations. She announced, “—and if you have a problem with wrecking books, you should get over it.”

I was mortified. But I buried that feeling, because I had to do the project.

By the end of the course, I had fallen in love with my newly transformed book-turned-art-piece. I still have it. That small, old hardcover novel now tells a very different story.

Writing in books

What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day by Pearl Cleage was the first non-textbook I remember enjoying in a new way. Academia had kicked the love of reading for pleasure right out of me, but Pearl Cleage’s book revived it.

And maybe because I was still fresh off years of textbook reading, I underlined phrases I loved and wrote comments in the margins—as if I were having a conversation with the author. Things like, “Oh girl, you are funny,” or “You’re kidding me, right?” Just little reactions I felt compelled to jot down. I would never have done this before.

Now, whenever I truly love a book, I engage with it. I mark thoughts, underline phrases, fold corners, scribble notes, sometimes even doodle in the margins. The book becomes visibly loved and clearly used. And if, one day, my books land in a used shop, I hope the next reader will enjoy not just the story, but my little conversations tucked between the pages.

Loving books

A well-loved book is one you simply can’t put down. You read it on the couch, or while stirring a pot of soup. You take it to the beach, maybe even the bathtub. You stuff it into your purse or tote, whether your hands are clean or not.

The pages become dog-eared, the spine bends and softens, the cover shows its travels. A worn book is a loved book—because someone had to keep reading, had to keep it close. That wear is proof of deep engagement, a physical echo of the reader’s devotion.

My List, My Rules

When I came to Greece, I spotted My List, My Rules on my friend’s bookshelf. My book. But not the crisp, fresh version I was familiar with. This copy was swollen with seawater, smudged with sunscreen, bent and curled almost into sculpture.

And it was beautiful.

It meant she couldn’t put it down—that my story had followed her everywhere. In its worn, well-traveled state, my book told a second story, not just mine, but hers too: where it had gone, what it had lived through.

Stories tell stories

Books become more than their pages. They gather fingerprints, tears, laughter, salt water, coffee stains. They travel with us—and take us places too: faraway landscapes, familiar kitchens, inside other people’s heads, and deep into our own hearts.

Where do your books travel with you? Are you a gentle reader—or do your finished books leave your hands looking well loved, worn, and alive?

As always, thank you for reading, Lovelies