Infestation.

A while ago we suffered a bookworm infestation in our house library. A bunch of multiplying little white insects ate away many pricey books in secret. Yes, I found out way later because they were inside the books that I hadn't touched in years. And now they're all lost. Many of them were beautiful with sparkly covers and given by my nani who has as I have grown up, spent a fortune on books for me. She was adamant that I be THAT sort of girl. How safe I had kept them, how I had loved those inanimate things, how I'd keep the newer ones under my pillow as a kid because I missed her. Now that I think about it, she's the only one on Earth that's ever really taught me stuff. Table manners for instance. I look exactly like her,when she was young,though a much less finer version obviously. We have her wedding picture in the tv lounge and I've never seen any human being so regal, so untainted by the dirt of the world. She stares into the camera with that same innocence I have inherited. Except mine cost me everything. Sometimes I think she sees something of herself in me, perhaps she has found peace in my company because of it, but little does she or anyone know, how I am to spend eternity without it. I'm sure dear reader, you are hoping there is a point to all this and you're right... There is. And the point is this, that I'm eaten away just like those books I loved. Eaten away in bits and most of the time I can't tell which parts are gone. The good bits or the bad ones? Which chapter is lost, which character have I killed, what doorway leads where? I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be, and to make who happy. But one thing is for certain, one's gotta deal with their bookworms before they eat away the good parts in us. All is more fragile and easily lost than you think.