My Books
August 7, 2025
|By Adam Scott
While some cradle their books like fragile relics, untouched and pristine, I… am not one of them.
My books look lived in—spines cracked open like old doors, pages dog-eared and worn thin, margins tangled with underlines and restless notes.
They carry the evidence of my passage: ink scars, folded corners, the ghost of my thoughts pressed between their pages. A quiet, chaotic testament that I was here, and I made them mine.