"I tore it out without hesitation; there is always an allure to these bureaucratic relics bearing the marks of an era of rubber stamps and card catalogues.
But now I am struck with a sense of guilt. I feel I have robbed this poor, worn book of its history, wrenching memories from its back page and reducing its identity to nothing more than pure physicality and an anonymous electronic record. I have doomed this book to exist as an hermetic object, undoing its grip on the past and forcing it to exist in a "present" (whatever that present may be), rather than in those many, simultaneous, mysterious pasts it until recently could lay claim to inhabiting. It is nothing but a Doctor with a broken TARDIS.
Poor dislocated, disenfranchised soul.
You will get these back."
I felt so genuinely, viscerally bad for a goddamned book I'd wronged. What the balls, dude?
What the balls.