Dear Beautiful, Wonderful, Transforming Books,
By now you have probably noticed, without me having to tell you, that I have been sorely neglecting you of late. Perhaps the first clue was at the used book store when instead of spending all my time sorting through the film books for anything worthwhile and then wandering lovingly up and down the fiction aisles for two or three books to add to the "to-be-read-someday" pile, I made a beeline for the craft section and spent all my time there sifting through the small shelf of knitting books.
Perhaps you noticed something was missing when I stopped laying you next to my bed so I could roll over and pick you up on a weekend morning when I wanted to be awake but wasn't quite ready to get out of bed yet. Instead, my eyes would pop open as soon as I remembered that I had "something on the needles" and I would scurry to the living room to play with string.
I would return to you periodically, and even split my time evenly between you for a while, so I can understand why you may not have noticed the change until it was too late.
But now I am afraid it's time to face the facts: my inclination is to reach for the needles now before I reach for a book. I am ashamed to admit this. I didn't want it to be this way, and I never planned for it to happen. It was all so innocent at first! It's not my fault, really. I was seduced by all those colors and textures and patterns.
Even though we must part for now, I hope that you will still allow me to visit you every so often. Please try to keep an open mind about this. Perhaps one day I will come back to you entirely.
But don't keep your hopes up.