A fallen bookmark

I pushed past the side of the sofa, stepping slowly across the woven rug until I reached the tall wooden shelf. Lying flat against the skirting board was a thick paper bookmark with frayed edges and a faded blue ribbon. I knelt down and picked it up with both hands. It felt light and soft, not sharp like the things left behind on the floor. I carefully propped it upright against the dark wood of the shelf, hoping it might stay where someone could see it.