She bought a novel today, "The Time Keeper" by Mitch Albom. The novel caught her eye as she sauntered through the bookstore, as though she had read it some years ago, and had forgotten all about it. Upon opening its cover and reading the first few pages, she remembered. Yes, she had read these very lines before... borrowed from the local library and left for dust on her desk for weeks, before it made its familiar way back to the library again. Like most books that she borrowed nowadays, she had no time to read them.
Perhaps it was for that reason that the "time" in the "The Time Keeper" stood out to her as she passed by the book displays. She was intrigued by the passing of time; how one could treasure it so much and yet so readily and easily use it up each day, sometimes with a lack of purpose, other times with a direction that needed renewing in guidance. She had a feeling this Mitch guy, whom she should probably refer to by full name, felt the same as her.
At the counter, while waiting for her turn, she looked around and was so amazed. Amazed that there were so many people in the one bookstore, all holding freshly printed books in their hands, welcoming them to be part of their lives. Indeed, if the man beside her could hear her inner thoughts, he might retort, "but that's what people do in bookstores". And he may be right. But this was all so new to her. It wasn't that people didn't read or buy books where she came from, but she never saw such a gathering within them. Bookstores were also growing scarce, where she lived.
It was late at night when she took the novel out at home. She saw something hanging on the side of it. It was a bookmark. A richly purple one, with bright white flowers on it. It had words too, but for a moment, she hadn't even truly take notice of them, because she was so struck by awe. A bookmark. It had been a while since she used one. In the past, she had used polaroids, or any worthy substitutes like an unwanted piece of paper, to mark which page she was up to. Somedays she relied on her memory. She had forgotten that people used bookmarks, too.
When she eventually got over this, she read the words on the bookmark she held. It was like a prose, but a happy one, encouraging and uplifting in all the right ways. Some parts of it stood out more to her, like "you will find a way to make the best out of any situation" and "accept the things that you can't do anything about". She suspected that the giver of the bookmark understood how these words related to her. Her suspicions were, of course, confirmed when she found a note on the back of the bookmark from the giver herself, making it all the more special... transcending its use way beyond the utilitarian one of marking the page.
After all, that's an example of how things derive its importance. Some call it sentimentality, but she liked to think of them as meanings. Things that mean are often borne by intentions from the heart, and the bookmark she held in her hand was an example of such a case.
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