There is something about the smell of old books that is divine. In the sleepy town I live in, there is a thrift store filled with dusty, weathered classics. They are hidden gems that can be yours for twenty-five cents. My bookshelf is filled with these treasures, with their worn pages, and eloquently inscripted front covers. I think of the hands that each book has passed through before they came to rest on my bookshelf. A story within a story.
My bookshelf |
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