~The book of love

I was trying to purge, but I had to walk out of the room. My "library". The non-smoking room. Harold's room. The bedroom I can't use because the a/c is in the living room, and the building's washing machine is on the other side of the too-thin wall.

Hundreds of dollars worth of books. Books I never wanted. Books that got dumped on me because Art didn't feel like taking them to the book trader before he ran off to hide in his fucking desert. In my life, there has been thousands of dollars worth of Art's stuff in my possession.

I never wanted his books or his electronics or his posters or his fucking toaster oven. I just wanted him not to leave. I wanted him to be a father.

So, I stack the hundreds of dollars worth of books in my closet. They'll end up at the Salvation Army, in the hands of people who don't know the worth of them, who will bend the pages, rip the covers, and crack the spines. He'd hate that.

Funny how my heart was the only thing he wasn't anal-retentive about.