• I stare at the aging cover and reposition it; seeing the gold lettering spell out my precious books name, my fingers running over the woven plastic thread which make up its outside. ‘The Oxford Universal Dictionary,’ they read, stamped long ago on the top of the deteriorating spine.
    Its frayed binding along the corners grabs my as I open it to any one of the thousands of brittle, deep ivory pages, savoring the musty smell which fills the air; my eyes studying the tiny print.
    I continue to flip through the book, discovering torn and folded pages here and there before closing the hard back book. My eyes are then drawn to the white and gray splotches which cover its exterior, cause by years upon years of having glasses of water sitting on top of it during my various writing and editing sessions. Soon, I carefully place it back on the book shelf, and meander towards the library door.