It was her favourite book in the entire world. Reading it became a routine so natural it was like breathing…
She knew every word, every comma, every dot. The book was so worn that the pages were soft and fragile like the petals of a rose.
And even so the pages still had that particular and special smell that new books have.
But now this perfect story reminded her too much of that time… too well, too clear, too painful.
The book had to go, just had to. And with one tear, of it went. Right there in the place where it all began.