A certain sadness
I’m reading. I wish I read more
than I manage to do. I’m a slow reader,
one who wants to read what’s written,
and I take notes whenever I read
something worthy of being recorded.
The book I’m currently reading is a slow read
but that’s okay – the slowness is part of the tone
that the novel’s author wants to create
(maybe ‘tone’ isn’t the right word) …
Nevertheless, as I’m reading
this particular novel, set in a city
I love in so many ways and
I would love to visit again,
to “be there” longer than I was,
but I digress … where was I?
I was about to say that I have
realized, as I’m reading this book,
that I am probably not ever
going to re-read it … and this
saddens me … and the question
arises: what books am I going
to find the time to re-read?