“My Old Books, My Treasure”
There is a kind of magic in old books that new ones—shiny, untouched, and crisp—can never quite replicate. My shelves are lined with books whose spines are worn, pages slightly yellowed, and corners softened from time and touch. These aren’t just books. They are memories, friends, teachers, and sometimes, portals to other lifetimes. As strange as it may sound to some, my old books are my treasure—priceless, irreplaceable, and deeply personal.More Than Pages and Print When people talk about treasures, they often refer to things with monetary value—gold, jewelry, property. But for me, nothing compares to the quiet wealth that lives within my old books. Each one holds a story beyond the printed words. The notes scribbled in margins, the underlined passages, the occasional pressed flower or train ticket slipped between pages—these are the real riches. Some of these books were gifts from people I loved; some were finds in dusty secondhand stores where I spent hours exploring. Others were pa...