Sometimes I Read

More often, I collect books.

Call it a fetish. It feels good to hold a book. Thrift store finds and specific “must-have” items adorn the shelves of my newly founded library. There’s still room on the shelves, and I can use that to justify the constant expansion.

Emerson is absent, as is “How to Survive the Loss of a Love.” I gave away that one, as instructed. Spoiler alert—I survived.