of an old book

They say that women fall in love with a man only once they get to know him. I’ve thought long and hard and can’t seem to remember a time I fell in love like that.

I choose my men rather like I choose my books. I want the cover to attract me and call out to me, look attractive. I need to feel drawn to it, regardless of what type of book it is. I’m impulsive. It’s usually a split second decision for me. But I’m also shallow, and I wouldn’t be caught dead with a book with an ugly cover. I never look beyond the cover the first time.

Once I’m alone with the book, I can’t wait to discover it, page by page. As I read, I’m aching to run my hands over the spine, making sure it’s there.