This page now contains an imperfection.
It used to be clear and white, with crisp, gray lines on it. It used to be
flat and unbent, unlooked-at. Pure.
Now there is rough blue pen scribbled all down it's front. It can no longer
be pure and beautiful.
But before these scrawlings, it was sullied.
Past rantings have pressured grooves into this paper, showing their ghostly
images when held on an angle. No longer smooth and porcelain.
And even before those indents, this book was handled and bent, ruining the
perfect flatness of this once-lovely page.
Although I must say, I like it quite a lot better now that it has been
dirtied by my touch. It is now quite distinctly mine, while the older,
perfect page had no character at all.