I’m packing to move. I’m playing sad songs on spotify. Suitable melancholy. Occasional weeping. Books. Books in boxes. Bound for storage. Books. Time machines. Stories. Books. Bound on shelves. Each Book is anchored to when it was first received. They sit on the shelves collecting dust. They should have the ability to fly. After reading a book it should sprout wings and take to the air and find someone.
I’ve one book by Paul McCartney worth thousands. I’ll be keeping that. I’m not daft. Boxes. Nearly everything’s in boxes now. Books love boxes. Long live the ipad, the kindle and the tablet. Storage for thousands of books in a space big as your heart. Those electronic devices surpass this emotionally shattering book packing process. Should I give them all away? I think I might. I am convincing myself. There’d be no spotify induced self pitying when pressing a delete button.