I stare at the love of my life. My collection of old books. Books that went out of print long ago. Books that were written before anyone alive was even born. My babies.

I didn’t always have this wonderful collection. I got my first old book when i had just turned 18. It was a graduation present from my grandfather. It had been passed down from grandfather to grandson since the 1800s. I reveled in the fancy lettering and yellowed pages. The genuine leather cover. Every stain of tears and every dog eared page. It was like going to another world.

After that, i started my collection. I went to antique stores and flea markets. Browsed Ebay and Craigslist. I went to college part time and worked full time. At first it was at Dennys, then Ikea, then a small bookstore, then an antique shop.

I had finally got my own big girl job. Assistant to a literary agent. It was my in to a world of books. Although i chose books most of these people had never even heard of. “A book on horses” and “giveth me light” and “Utopia guidebook” were all titles on my shelf.

Once I had worked at the job for a year, i could afford my own house. A small three bedroom place, on the outskirts of the city. I spent many weekend converting one of the bedrooms into a library. I hooked shelves up to the walls. Then put in a small table and comfy chairs. Blackout curtains on the windows to reduce sunlight to protect my loves. I added string lights and pillows and blankets. It was the nicest room in the whole house.

I made sure to dust them every day. I would spend most of my free time just reading them. In the attic of my house, i stored all my book restoration supplies. If the covers cracked or the spines got loose, i could fix it.

I eventually got around to dating. I could afford to spend a few hours a week away from my books. The dates never got far though. I never slept over at others houses. I spent most of my free time with my books.

There was one man who got close to me. He even stayed the night once a week. He admired my dedication to my books. We had plans of getting married one day. Of having children. I should have known it was all a lie.

Each time he spent the night, he took pictures of my books. He put them up on the internet. There were museums and private collectors that were interested in my babies.

One night i came home to my door wide open. I ran in without a second thought. Everything looked okay. My tv was still there. My jewelry in my room. Then i got to my library. The sight of it broke my heart. Over half my collection was gone. The shelves looked so bare. The one my grandfather got me was missing, and he had long since passed.

I immediately gathered the 100 or so books I had left and immediately left to my parents house. Luckily, i had insured a lot of the books. They were worth a pretty penny. My father gathered most of my belongings and put them in the basement of their house. I started to live out of the basement. My books were kept in a locked room that only I had a key for. My parents sold my house for me. It took me a while to start looking for books again. I was grieving the loss of my old ones. I dated casually, but never let it get serious.

My books are my whole life. I didn’t protect them once, but that will not happen again. They are the love of my life.