Sometimes I’m just a girl, walking into a book store. Swimming in the minds of other writers- ah that’s life! We’re all a little crazy or maybe it’s just me, I can never find the exit-sign in those places. So I stay until almost closing, get a sense -long body lines come out of nowhere, and then there’s another book that catches my eye – I sniff first, tucking in the lastest cut-timber, ah Lanston Huges, The Negro Mother “Children I come back today, to tell you of the long dark way, that I had to climb, that I had to know”…
I move on: Oscar Wilde hitting me the face, The Ballad Reading Gaol “That fellows got to swing” I skip along the lines, chewing -sweetness and everything in between.
“Some love too little
Some love too long
Some do the deed with many tears
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves; yet each man does not die.”
I look up for a minute, rub the cover of the book, gently place it back on the shelf. I wonder about book owners, are they like me? Do they melt? Do their eyes sparkle in delight of books? I know there are many parts of owning books. Selling books, books on display, one day I might know these operations but for now, it is my own personal luxury.
P.S. I always spend $50.00 plus in bookstores, I say its worth it.
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.