292 | The books on the shelf

Mitchel Lensink
Oct 19, 2021
1 min read

The books on the shelf, will I ever read them? I pick one up and flick through the pages. I start reading somewhere in the middle of a paragraph. It’s an interesting story but it doesn’t make much sense. I should start reading from the beginning. Like a normal person. I flick back until I reach the first words on the first page. Only to close the book again.

I pick up another book. A gorgeous, high-quality object. Touching the paper is a joy in itself. The images have a very fine but noticeable texture that makes you want to run your finger across them in the hopes that you can feel the scene. Around it are beautiful words I’m sure, though they’re nothing but abstract shapes to me. The font mesmerises me but the combination of the letters hold no meaning. Back to the shelf it is.

I pick up the magazine that has been laying around opened on my desk for weeks now. Trying to finish reading the article I started lord knows how long ago. All I can bring myself to do is look at the images again. Grainy black and whites of a band many people know the name of but I can’t remember without looking it up. And even when I would, there is no way I can name one song they’ve made. That doesn’t motivate to read at all, doesn’t it? Back to the corner of the desk it is.

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