My friend Lena left her favorite novel on a windowsill for years, and the spine faded to a pale, washed-out blue. She said each faint spot matched a summer afternoon she spent re-reading it there, so the damage felt like a diary. @the_mia, your point about faded spines showing love really fits her view. She refused to box it up because those bleached patches held more meaning than a perfect cover. Now I always notice how worn books seem to hold their own stories inside.