Surprisingly Satisfying

I doubt if it's a big surprise to anybody here that I like books.

What might surprise some people is the fact that I like to rip some books apart.

You see, I had this book once that was missing it's cover. I don't remember what happened, if the cover was ripped before I got it or if there was an unfortunate cover-ectomy at some point. I do remember the dilemma I was in.

What should I do with the book? I couldn't give it away because who would want a damaged book, but I didn't want to just throw it away. After all, I hadn't read it yet, and it was still perfectly readable.

Well, except for the cover. That wasn't readable.

Unless you had some kind of superpower that let you read something that isn't there, which would be the superpower I would want to have.

It seemed like a waste not to read it, so I did. I knew I was going to throw it away once I finished reading, so I decided why wait until I was finished. Whenever I stopped reading I simply tore off the pages I already read and threw them away. Why bother with a bookmark?

It was liberating.

After that I developed a soft spot for damaged books. Missing covers, stained pages, it doesn't matter. It's like I attract them.

I read them.

And then I destroy them.

Slowly, page by page.

It sounds horrible, I know. Like pulling the legs off daddy long-legs.

But watching the book get smaller and smaller makes me happy.