The Pause Between Books

There’s a special moment– like a breath or a pause– between books. Maybe it’s not even a breath or a pause, but rather a dangling over empty space. A loose end.

Whenever this moment comes, I feel like someone who’s walked into a room but can’t remember why they’re there. What was I doing? What do I want to read next?

There’s a title or two on the shelf behind me, but they’re not quite… It.

I get out my phone and scroll through the digital library, but suddenly I’m shy. The glossy titles and cover art intrigue and beckon, but I read the descriptions and think: “What if I don’t like it? What if it’s a waste of time?! I really want to read something GOOD.”

So I get up from behind my desk. I walk outside and move my car from one side of the street to the other (alternate parking, fun fun). My neighbor, driving by, stops to chat for a moment and then drives on. All of this happens, and yet still when I walk back into my house, I feel like a cord blowing in the wind.

I need a book to tie me down.