The book mark

I stared at the book mark for a good ten minutes. It was purple with a quote on one side, silver on the back. A thin tassel was twist tied at the end. Sometimes the cats will paw at it, slapping it and then looking at me to play with them. On more than one occasion I've succumbed to their wishes and, marking my page with a random piece of paper, proceeded to tire them out.
After they're bored of attacking it under the blanket or jumping into the air to catch it and release it so I can perform my part again, I return it to a random page behind one the I was currently reading and forget about it until I'm ready to use it for its created purpose.

I haven't thought of its original meaning for a long time; what it was before, what it was supposed to remind me of while I was reading. Except for the marker I don't think I have any of mementos left from those days, only memories which are distorted and softened by time.

Everything else is gone except the book mark. I remember when I received it, the first pages I put it between. I remember reading the quote and the look of expectation in her eyes. I remember looking at her and nodding and saying something ridiculous about liking it or thinking it was cool. The words couldn't describe how happy I was, not for the marker, but for her.

I've used the book mark ever since, although time to read has been limited. At one point, after moving I thought I had lost it. The thought saddened me, for I truly didn't have anything left as a reminder, nothing but those memories and I know all too well how bad my mind can play tricks on me and make them memories into something they're not.

The book mark was a reminder though, the reminder of a month which was perfect in the present and the possibility of the future. So many things happened, so many good, so many bad, but at least one month can be marked as perfect.

When I found the marker again, it was in a book I had stopped reading due to the trials and tribulations of school. I picked up the book and began reading it, then I found myself looking into the expectant eyes of the cat. He had not forgotten, and I guess neither have I.