I love old books.
There's something special about those old hard cover books with thick, smooth pages that are starting to yellow.
It may have had a dust cover once, but by the time you found this treasure tucked away at the back of a second hand book shop the dust cover was long gone. There could be a printed pattern on the front or it could be plain. Usually the only place you will find the title and author is on the spine.
There may be the name of the previous owner on the inside page or a stamp from the bookshop where it was first purchased.
The story takes you back to simpler days, and you wonder what it would have been like to live in that world, so different from the one you are in now. It's like your own little time machine.
You find yourself wondering about the other people who had picked up this book. Did they read it? What did they think about it? Why don't they have it anymore?
In all your wondering, do you ever think about people who may own this book after you? Will they wonder why you bought it? Will they even know who you are when they read your name written on the inside page? Will they wonder the same things you did?
And what about the people who saw the book in the book shop, looked at it but didn't buy it? Why did they put it back? You're glad they did because it means you get to buy it. But you still wonder ...
That's not to say that I don't like new books, but there's just something special about old ones.