i become the lesser half of whatever book i managed to get my heart attached to and the quick trip to the big apple of 2019 is no exception. they say new york’s the city that never sleeps, i didn’t think it could be perhaps the city was up all night reading until i was there up all night reading. i traveled without a solid itinerary other than to read. everything else was, for lack of a better word, extemporaneous. and to say that the feeling is over the moon when those spur-of-the-moments coincided with my one and only travel itinerary is an understatement. last year’s brooklyn book fest was held in october. i had a teeny tiny part in it as a volunteer. and i am thankful because it was then that the city made me realize (among others) how much of my sadness was due in no small part to me forgetting to have time for books. books have always made me feel things but in the end it’s joy that stays
"but what now? what am I supposed to do with all these feelings?" (hann, 2014). to all the books i’ve read before is my attempt to make them last or sth like that :)
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