We’re not monsters. We’re not bad people.We’re not book hating anarchists. We’re your friends, your neighbors, your sisters and spouses. We work next to you, come to your book club, eat at the same Thanksgiving table. We’re bibliophiles, casual readers, publishing professionals. And we like breaking our books’ spines. We like turning down the corners on the page. We like the feeling of a worn book in our hands. Not because we don’t cherish our books, but because we love them so much. You see our devotion in the fine lines down our mass market spines, the battered covers of our beloved romances, the finger smudges on the ink. Each mark we make is a reflection of our excitement. We are the readers who forget our subway stops, who know that when you are in a book time and space and comfort doesn’t matter. Water warped pages from when we simply must keep reading while in the bathtub. Torn covers from multiple journeys at the bottom of a bag. Creased corners from when a passage was so good, so amazingly good, we needed to be able to find it in a second. Spines that lay flat so we can hold the book in one hand while eating that slice of pizza with the other. Those broken spines, the perfectly broken spines, that mark our favorite scenes so our books automatically flip to the chapters where we most want to linger and reread, that keep our books open so we can get lost, that take us back to the places and characters who have become part of us, those broken spines are how we show our love. We’re not monsters. We’re not bad people. We’re not book haters. We love our books, but we love the stories in them more. That’s why we have multiple copies of the books we adore. We are the people that break the spines and we’re not apologizing.
Mature content below the jump. Parental supervision is advised.
(Just kidding but the content may shock some viewers)