Everybody has that book (or books) that they’ve read again and again until the pages are tattered or falling out like hair, the edges worn down, the spine cracked, death looming around the corner. I always find those types of books to be: 1. ones you’ve reread a lot and 2. ones that you’ve own for many many years. It’s a tell-tale sign that the book is well-loved. Those books are our precious.
The only book I can think of that I still own and has been worn down so much that it’s a shell of its former self: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
I know, I know. I am in pain too that this beloved book had been broken into halves. I really wore it down. :P It’s not that I didn’t take good care of the book; it’s just the result of owning this book for around 15 years and constant rereading it when I was a pre-teen. It takes a toll on the book. But you know what? I look fondly at it and think, “it’s wearing its wounds with pride.” It really is a compliment to the book (even if it’s falling at the seams).