Ours is a gradual love story. I bought you, immediately plugged you in, gaped at your magic technology, then promptly forgot about you for weeks. But when a romance newsletter promised an ebook for a good cause I suddenly remembered I have one of those. One of you. I replugged you in, downloaded the novella (Kissing Tolstoy), and started reading right away in the comfort of my living room. I didn’t have to wait for the library to open or put on pants or spend lots of money. This novella was good and I was hooked.
Then, to my delight, I could keep reading while I ate my Sunday snack because I didn’t have to figure out a way to prop you open. You just dutifully showed me the words on one page then the next as you lay on the dining room table. This was the first time I realized our relationship could be more. That it could move to the next level.
Usually, I’m not one to get caught up on physical appearances, but you are so light. You don’t weigh down my purse. I can easily hold you above my face as I lay in bed and you fit in my small hands so perfectly. I don’t have to work so hard to get you to open up, as I did with so many mass market paperbacks. No worrying about breaking spines or dog-earing pages. You keep these precious words in pristine condition, encased in your magical rectangular self.
And your light. Not to be cliche, but when I saw your internal light, my life also lit up. I could read in bed without the lamp, in the car without the overhead light. And your adjustable brightness made me understand how truly flexible you were to my needs. I felt appreciated in this relationship, valued. Not like with books where the conditions for us to enjoy each other had to be perfect.
Plus, your willingness to keep my secrets means the world to me. I doesn’t matter what I’m reading, you won’t tell everyone else in the airport or in the doctor’s waiting room. You could be showing me classics I missed out on growing up like The Bluest Eye or the most recent romance in my favorite series (The Winston Brothers or Jane Jameson). Or, when I’m reading something heartwrenching (Underground Railroad) and hard (All the Single Ladies), you don’t judge me for having to look up a word on every other page. Okay, twice on some pages.
I know I scoffed at you and waited to buy you until Black Friday and then promptly forgot about you, but we’ve made it. Through all the tough times, you are still unfailingly good to me.
With love and affection,