Gone are the days my bookshelf breathed life through literary words, its shelves filled with titles and loved possessions. A faceless face, made up life giving trees. Hours spent on imagination and queries. To lose myself in a new world and to contemplate in the world of now.
Bookshelf 1
Having moved to a foreign land and leave what was precious to me. To feel that abandonment I purposely executed. I want to punch myself.
Part of bookshelf 2
My loves
My collection has dwindled in numbers. How much I have taken my love in advantage, knowing they sat there waiting for me to give them purpose and care, they waited patiently. My bane, my drug.Here now, a new beginning, a new chapter.
New bookshelf
Yes, this does seem promising. The love is still there. Partially. My new collection is something of love nonetheless. But the memories of before linger in my heart, mind and hands.
The rest of bookshelf 2
This is how I shall start. One section only filled partially the rest covered in rubbish and junk food. Sad. I am determined to make it grow. To invest the time I did before to accumulate, and to read.
I hate the word 'bookworm'. But are you a reader? Are you one to stick your nose in books, be it fiction and non-fiction? Have you ever moved to a different country and start you collection all over again? Was it hard to leave them? It really does pain me to have done this, and the reality of the situation has only anchored itself in my mind.
