I genuinely cannot relate. My books aren’t just “read and done” items they’re emotional timestamps. Every dog-eared page, every highlighted line, every cracked spine carries a version of me. There’s the one I cried into at 2 a.m., the one that made me grin like an idiot, the one that gave me butterflies over fictional people who felt too real. You’re telling me I should just give that away?
Call it materialistic if you want, but I call it attachment with a personality. I don’t collect books, I archive feelings. Some people declutter i curate. My shelf isn’t storage, it’s a timeline. And yes, I will absolutely sleep surrounded by them like they’re old friends, because they are. Borrowed books can come and go, that’s fine but the ones I claim? They’re permanent residents. Not leaving, not rotating, not being “resold.”
At this point, they’re basically part of my personality so yeah, they’re coming with me everywhere yes, even to my grave.
by unspokenandunheard
1 Comment
I wish I could still hold onto a large collection of books. Unfortunately I have no room in my apartment for more than 1 bookcase and two tubs of books