Have you ever noticed how there are some books
you have read, some books you want to read,
and others that you want to have already read?
That last one is an interesting one because
I tend to think that those are the books that
would probably bring the greatest satisfaction
if I read them, but yet I just can’t muster the will to do it
Everyone will ask you about what you have
read, and the rare person, attempting to get a
glimpse at your soul will ask you want you want
to read, but I think the question of what you want
to have already read is far more telling
What keeps you from reading it? Is it full of facts
and figures you want to know, but find dreadfully
boring to digest? Is it some classic novel that
you don’t want to take the time to read, but you
want to be able to tell people you read and not
feel like a poseur? Maybe it’s just that it’s too far
down your list and you know that unless you live
to be two hundred forty three years old you’ll
never get to it.
I just can’t shake the feeling, that somewhere
out there in the distance – out where the soul
wanders free, a part of me is standing there
in a heavenly library with a book that I want
to have read, picking at the inseam – almost
pulling it off the shelf, creating some
alternate universe, where I actually pull it
down, check it out and read it – and then
I know there is a me out there somewhere
that has taken the time, and experienced the
joy of having accomplished something
that I resisted
But I also know I’ve just created a dozen
more universes where it still just sits on the bed stand
