Dear Book,

You have been nice. Thanks for hanging out with me for the past couple of weeks. It's been a blast. You've kept me company while I have waited for countless buses and saved me from being spoken to by a myriad of creepy individuals.

I really like you. I mean, I like everything about you. I wish we didn't have to say goodbye so soon.
You're so petite. You're the perfect size. 15.2 by 9.6 centimetres. Ideal for living in small handbags. Which is where you have been for the past few weeks. Thanks for that. I am apologetic for how the various pencils in that bag have treated you, they don't know any better, I hope you can understand.

I fell in love with Jessica Renton. She is enchanting. I feel for Burt. I wanted to be with him, sitting across from Jessica's house in the pouring rain, wearing heavy yellow raincoats all afternoon, watching all the people in black clothes leave. Just in case she needed something.

Thanks for reminding me what it feels like to not want to be a child anymore. For taking me back to the place where no one believes you, no one trusts you to make any sort of decision yourself and where privacy is obsolete.

More than anything I love that your footnotes teach me how to say incredibly useful phrases in German. I'm not entirely sure why you do that. Your author is American and therefore wrote you in English. I see no reason for you to have been translated into German then back to English, leaving behind vital tidbits of the German language. Regardless, I love you for giving me this joy. Thank you so much.