There are readers who keep their books pristine — crisp spines, untouched pages, margins as white as winter. And then there are readers like me: the ones who can’t help but slip a pencil into the story, underline a sentence that sparks, or doodle a tiny symbol beside a moment that feels important.

For me, annotating isn’t about analysis or obligation.
It’s simply something I love doing — a gentle ritual, a way of being present with a book.

Why I Annotate

I annotate because I enjoy the process : the pause, the pencil, the moment of deciding, yes, this line matters to me. It feels like leaning closer to the story — like whispering back to it. Marking a passage is my way of letting a book know I see it. That this sentence reached me, that this character’s grief or joy brushed against my own.

Sometimes I underline a phrase because it's beautiful.
Sometimes because it hurts.
Sometimes because it feels like truth.

A Way of Showing Love

Annotating is, for me, a small act of devotion. It’s how I celebrate the writing I admire, the emotions that linger, the lines that feel written just for me. Making something stand out on the page — a heart, a star, a tiny doodle — is my way of saying :

This mattered. This stayed. This deserves to be remembered.

And when a story gives me comfort, inspiration, or company, I want to give something back. Annotations let me do that.

The Joy of Returning to an Annotated Book

One of my favourite feelings is picking up a book I’ve already annotated.
It’s like stepping into a room I once lived in — familiar, warm, a little bit mine.

The underlined sentences bring back the exact moment I first read them.
The doodles remind me of how I felt.
The margin notes show me what caught my attention, what made me laugh, what broke my heart.

It’s a kind of time capsule, an emotional map of a reading experience.

Every little mark turns the book into a personal object — one that carries traces of who I was each time I read it.

A Conversation with the Story

Annotating, to me, is a dialogue. The author speaks, I respond.
And somewhere between those two gestures, a deeper connection forms — one that makes the story feel alive, shared, and uniquely mine. That’s why I annotate. Not to study, not to be productive, but because it brings me joy. Because it makes reading slower, softer, more intentional. Because it helps me hold onto the parts of the story that feel like home. And because when I return to those pages months or years later, I get to meet not just the story again … but the version of myself who fell in love with it.

Do you also annotate ?

Love, Celine.