While I am loathe to admit it, I feel I must. I am writing from a mobile phone.also, since it is technically after midnight I missed the deadline. Since I've blown it already I might as well meander a bit into where my mind had been, if you hadn't guessed already. Deep deep in the depths of that little book I told you about yesterday. I love it. It is one of those treasured pieces that feels like it was written just for me.maybe it's this particular copy, but it has amazing vibes. I deperately want to seek out a copy for myself but who knows what I will end up with. What if its more than the writing (simple) or binding (sewn, not glued) but something altogether unique to this one book? I wonder about the person or people who owned it and those who ckecked it out before me. What were they like? Did they love it? I know someone made pencil marks, but I don't know how long ago or why. I suppose I don't need to know. I just hope that somewhere in those pages my love has gotten stuck and pops out to the next reader.