I REMEMBER

So, why am I angry? I’m angry for the way that we lost him. That we had to lose him at all. What I want to say here, falls apart. I stare at this paragraph and the screen blurs. It is futile and it is anger. It is loss.

The disconnected e-reader

I value my privacy, but there’s nothing to hide. There’s not a single book I’m ashamed to have read. Not even the ones I regret reading (because I could have spent the time reading something better). A book’s a book.