i fell asleep with a book in my lap.
And i woke up with the bookmark on the pillow next to me.
My mind wants to ask the right questions, but all i can muster is a meager whimper:
“What happened last night?”
The bookmark replies with all the passion of a sexually liberated woman.
“You don’t remember? You took me out of the book and made love to me right here in this bed”
The book has fallen on the floor.
Son of a bitch.
I will now spend 9 minutes furiously skimming the book, looking for the precise page i was on. At least the bookmark had some impulsive fun. I promised myself this wouldn’t happen again, but here i am.
Life as a bookmark must be unpleasant. Squished between two pages. WORDS EVERYWHERE. Words can be scary. Many of my bookmarks never know when they will see the light of day again.
Perhaps that is the reason they are always trying to escape when i bring my books somewhere.
Dont worry bookmark, i may be gone for seemingly an eternity, but i have not forgotten you.
Sometimes i find & rescue orphan bookmarks from library books. These are artifacts of an uncertain past. These bookmarks could have been squashed between the pages for many years. They could have an owner who misses them.
A bookmark could say a lot about a person.
Receipt / post it note: “i dont care, i just need to read!”
A store bought bookmark: “i appreciate the small cute things in life”
A self made DIY bookmark: “i am committed to this book, and i have made reading a part of my aesthetic”
No bookmark: “I am the architect of chaos, the wolf of my pasture. I am a menace.”
Your bookmarks miss you.
Take care of them, or someone else will.
<3