Based on a 'true' story.
Some people give expensive presents,
some hand out compliments.
Me, I give second-hand books.
others show their trust by giving out keys to their home
Me, I give second-hand books.
Seemingly cheap and boring, but for me it is the most intimate gesture.
My books are read, worn and their words have been carefully weighted, considered.
- scribbled down in a notebook, perhaps.
Get a book from me, and you can be sure that you are something special.
There are a few books out there with my signature.
Some of them appreciated, loved even. Others hidden in an office drawer.
What did I hope for, identifying myself with a book which so ruthlessly disclosed my inner core..?
Inexorably, inevitably my destiny got tangled up with the love triangle on Capri,
the Turkish tulip, all the nowhere and somewhere.
I said "this is me" and it became me. We became the story.
And we changed the story. Or it changed us.
Ironic?
Maybe, but hardly unexpected.
Ironic?
Maybe, but hardly unexpected.
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