I don't have much to say anymore. I just post masses of pictures.
Sometimes when the books weren't piled onto my desk and into my bags I opened their papery covers. I smelled their gluey binding. I fingered through page after page of print. I got wrapped up in their words, entangled by those stringy sentences. They bundled me up, warm and tight. They whispered in my ears until my ears themselves began to whisper back. They made me forget that one day I will forget everything. They made me forget that I am growing old.
