There lay the book, almost pristine, like it had never been read. Even though it had, and more than once too. "Like new" was the phrase someone would use. The only sign that the book had been touched was the faint imprint of writing on the cover. Impressions left behind when someone had used the book to back the piece of paper they were writing on. Visible only when the light hit it... just so. Upon closer inspection, you could see that it was a list.
"Milk
Bread
Eggs
Cheese"
was all it said. In the clear, precise handwriting of someone who, as a child, had been told to "write neatly, legibly, and beautifully" and had never grown out of it even as an adult. This book had not only belonged to someone, it had been part of their life. Even if for the few fleeting moments one needed to pen down a bare bones grocery list. Milk. Bread. Eggs. Cheese.
"Milk
Bread
Eggs
Cheese"
was all it said. In the clear, precise handwriting of someone who, as a child, had been told to "write neatly, legibly, and beautifully" and had never grown out of it even as an adult. This book had not only belonged to someone, it had been part of their life. Even if for the few fleeting moments one needed to pen down a bare bones grocery list. Milk. Bread. Eggs. Cheese.
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2 comments:
And, as promised, Veni, Vedi, Legi.
The entire archive.
I miss the jokes. All this vellakara payyan and dhoorathil irukkum payyan is interesting, but I still miss the jokes.
In my ideal world, Crystal Blur would complete Vyasa's dissertation, Asal Tamizh Penn would rediscover her blog, and you would continue your wordplay. Sigh.
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