I often wonder, as I’m reading a book I bought from a used bookstore, whose hands were holding this book right before mine? I place the book in my palms and hold it open with my thumbs. Is this how the other person held it too? Did they place their hands where I have mine or was it lower, higher, or maybe they didn’t hold it this way at all?

Somehow I feel connected to them; we both chose to read the same book, and we chose to give and buy from the same bookstore. (Have we crossed paths then? Probably not).

It almost feels like we’re reading it together. But apart. At different times. And we don’t know each other. The only thing we have in common is that we read this specific book. Who knows, we may have more in common. We could be into the same genre, so we have read other similar books, and probably read a few of the same books. But none of that matters, because I can have things in common with many other people. What matters is this specific book, that we both owned, we both held, and we both flipped the same pages.

Sometimes I wish they had left a note. “To whoever reading this next, good choice. I’m currently reading this book in my sunroom – it’s the afternoon, but I was reading in bed earlier this morning. I’m almost halfway done but I don’t feel that I remember everything. I should’ve taken more time reading, or maybe it wasn’t that interesting to me. Hopefully you’ll feel differently. I think I’ll read the second half more mindfully and I’ll write some notes. I guess you’ll get to read those too. Anyway, I think it’s cool that someone else will be holding this book after me.
– Date, no name.”

Or at least that’s the note I’d like to find, or what I imagine my note will say.