Sharing a book

I've been writing a lot lately to be completely honest, and i find myself grabbing my notebook and writing down ideas or phrases that don't make sense at all after a good night's sleep.

Today I started reading a book, but it isn't just a book for me, it is more than that. Well, it's '1984' by Orwell— quite well-known book but whatever. Even if I consider it valuable just because of its contents (yes, I haven't read it yet, but I kinda know what it is about), it is far more valuable(for me, at least) because it was borrowed from someone special.

Yeah, it is not something romantic at all about sharing a book about something so deep and hurtful, but for this blog's sake I'm gonna ignore the book's content.

It is so interesting to browse the same pages as someone you love, and to read a line and ask yourself what the other thought when they've read it (and when you answer yourself you are debating if you actually know the person as well as you thought). 

I might be crazy, but I feel like sharing books is quite an intimate act— just like sharing, i don't know, clothes, CDs? Not the best example, still, I ask myself: "What the hell have I done so good to be able to read someone else's book?!". 

I can hardly let go of the things that I love. If I like a book, and I give it to you, you must be fucking special or something. I mean, aren't all the people like this— valuing our best possessions?

I might just be crazy or something like that, and I'm selfish about my stuff, who knows?