I found this book tucked in a corner of a shelf next to my desk. Its creased spine and yellowed pages immediately giving away how many hands it has passed through. I bought it during a visit to a used bookstore, drawn in by both its reputation and its perfectly imperfect condition. There was something appealing about owning a copy that had clearly lived a few lives already. It’s small size helped to create a seemingly attainable goal. I dove into it quite quickly, reading steadily until I hit the halfway point.

After a while, the heaviness of the story and the busyness of everything else made it harder to pick back up, despite my quick start. The sticky note that still divides the pages feels like a pause button I never quite returned to. One day I might finish it, or maybe it will remain forever half-read and well-weathered.