Whenever we moved up
to a new grade
we were excited
about our new books
the same old curriculum
but freshly printed
unexplored
untouched
we covered them carefully
in colourful covers
stuck our names on them
name
class
section
and on the first day
there was something beautiful
about carrying them
in my rucksack
to school
fresh books
spread across the desk
I used to think
from now on
I will study better
I will not miss a chapter
I will keep every page clean
no fingers stained with chips
no fingers covered in dirt
and no fighting with books
no hitting a friend on the head
when angry
the book was innocent
why drag it
into our arguments
let the book remain
at peace with its words
maths
science
social studies
history
all that serious knowledge
waiting quietly
between the covers
but as the months passed
those same books
became worn
corners folded
covers scratched
pages carrying little marks
of where we had been
and at the end of the year
they would rest
on a shelf
or pass into the hands
of someone younger
I sometimes wonder
how many hands
one book travels through
how many names
how many classrooms
how many memories
can live between
the same pages
because one of mine
still carries her
the day she forgot her book
and sat beside me
we shared mine
our heads bent
over the same page
I was supposed to be reading
but sometimes
I got lost in her
and without noticing
I would turn the page
she would tap my hand
with her soft fingers
and say
we are not there yet
but in my imagination
I had already gone
too far with her
far beyond the chapter
far beyond the classroom
far beyond that age
now whenever
I hold a fresh book
and leaf through its pages
for a moment
I feel her beside me again
reading
watching my hand
move towards the next page
and saying
you have gone too far
stick with the page
I wish age
worked the same way
that when we went too far
we could simply turn back
to the page
where someone we loved
was still sitting beside us
and stay there
because this time
I know
we are not there yet
