Sorting through books, happily shelving, already reliving memories of adolescence and childhood, hungrier than ever before and coasting to a standstill, waiting for a time. In a way, capable of ingesting more information, more efficiently, but disconnected from drive or impetus. Names, faces, memories, a past that is textured, multi-dimensional, tangible, not the peculiarly simplistic version that we all thought we had and paraded with wild abandon. I did not know there was only one chance.
-
Filed Under