Vellichor (noun): strange wistfulness of used bookshops

The rows of books on the shelves all had scars.

Some had fading colors in its front cover, some had folded or missing pages, one of them even had a booger stuck to its spine.

That one was a picture book on rainbows and unicorns.

The imperfections and flaws on each book carried a mystical, mysterious magnificence that the polished appearances of new books did not have. They were created from the memories of their previous owners.

The fading colors must’ve been caused by a forgetful reader that frequently left the book open, letting the cover scratch on whatever surface it resided on. An avid collector of story quotes might have thieved the missing pages and made folds to remind themselves of themes they liked. As for the booger… well, it was safe to say that the picture book belonged to a child.

Why had the books ended up here?

Perhaps their original owners got tired of them. Maybe they had to move away and there wasn’t enough space on the moving truck. The book and reader might’ve waved goodbyes in tears… who knows?

It would seem like the book itself became a story.