I am looking at the book you gave me and it's sides are not unpigmented the way it were when you had shown it to me when you received it and the binding is deteriorating and the book's not exactly the kind of book I like to read but I still am because I know there are secrets in that book that touched your heart.
Maybe you don't want to break my heart by telling me how much you are annoyed by the constant curiosity of mine, or how much you adore my creative answering skills, or maybe you are just tired of my YA fiction, and you have given me something that's not a sixteen-year-old nerd in love with an out-of-his-league gem of a woman, because you can't see how much it is cancer-ing my heart and the well of my love. Maybe.
This book can tell me all that, without puncturing my eardrums and without the crying.
Aren't you the best person on earth?