I look at my bookcase and see my ex-lovers, lined up.
They haven’t been touched in months; some, years.
Stiff and neglected.
I hesitate to press open the pages and hear that crack the binding makes.
That means I have to commit.
The more time that passes, the easier it is to walk by without guilt.
It’s like I never knew them.
Inside of my heart, amidst the clutter of other small tragedies, lies the reality that I am no longer the generous lover of collected words.
I am the girl with a shelf of skeletons who remind her of her failure to follow through.
My Fight for Love 
I love this!
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Thank you!
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I have the same problem. 😦
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My poor bookshelf is so mad at me. Good news is, when I decide to start reading again, I have at least 8 books I have never opened.
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I’ve got three. I wonder what the mental block is…was thinking about devoting a specified hour a day to try to get back into it…I love my books.
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For me, it’s definitely a mental block. I started reading a book last week though (on my kindle), so I’m trying!
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Shoot. I guess I will give it a shot!
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There should be a “like × one-thousand” button
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Thanks so much! I’m flattered. I’ve visited your page and looked around a bit as well. Looking forward to reading more of your work. 🙂
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