I bought the books in places all over the world. Reminders of where I had been, who I had seen, what I had done. I toted them home, told myself I’d read them, that I couldn’t wait to read them. I unpacked them with anticipation, stacked them next to my bed, alongside all the other books I had bought and hadn’t read.

So many words and stories, thoughts and ideas, waiting for me, a thousand different worlds, portals to places and times and people. They just sit there, waiting for me to remember them. But the stack just keeps growing.


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