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I have been sifting through my books, trying to find something good to take to bed with me tonight. But nothing appeals. I have hundreds of books, and have probably not read half of them. I tend to accumulate them faster than I can or care to read. So here is my library, and here I am pulling books off my shelves, scanning the jacket and the first few pages and putting it back on the shelf. One after another. And here I am, unable to find any words that speak to me.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly. Something that matches my mood, maybe. Something that resonates heavily. Something that will keep me from thinking too much before I fall asleep.
But nothing is there. And it occurs to me that maybe the words that will resonate are not on my shelves. Maybe the words are inside me. Maybe they will come onto the page tonight.
Tonight I am thinking.
Tonight I am remembering.
I am remembering a time, nearly five years ago.
I have thought a lot lately about writing about that time, or of writing about the time that stands between here and that moment, or set of moments, five years ago. But while I am able to go there in my mind, sometimes without willing it, I am not willing to write it down. I do not want to tell you about it all.
Some of it you already know.
But most of it you will not be able to understand.
So I try to steer my thoughts away from those moments and instead let them settle on something else. Those words that need to resonate are not coming and I cannot find that something else.
Tonight I am remembering and the remembering is so strong I cannot will it away. I have been able to will it away when I am at work. I can throw myself into meetings and email and make it all dissolve into my day to day. At least, temporarily.
It is when I am at home, after my day has ended that it comes to me. Here is when it is so powerful it seems, in some spaces, all consuming. Like it could pick me up and carry me away. My memories are that strong.
But, as I told you, I do not want to write about them.