And So He Did The

So Many Words Get Lost. They Leave The Mouthand Lose Their Courage, Wandering Aimlessly Until They Are Swept Into The Gutter Like Dead Leaves. On Rainy Days You Can Hear Their Chorus Rushing Past.

At The End, All That's Left Of You Are Your Possessions. Perhaps That's Why I've Never Been Able To Throw Anything Away. Perhaps That's Why I Hoarded The World: With The Hope That When I Died, The Sum Total Of My Things Would Suggest A Life Larger Than The One I Lived.

The Shop Owner Did Not Try To Push The Book On Any Of Her Customers. She Knew That In The Wrong Hands Such A Book Could Easily Be Dismissed, Or, Worse, Go Unread. Instead She Let It Sit Where It Was In The Hope That The Right Reader Might Discover It.

To Me, This Is The Singular Privilege Of Reading Literature: We Are Allowed To Step Into Another's Life.

Except For When I Was Very Little And Thought That Being An "engineer" Meant He Drove A Train. Then I Imagined Him In The Seat Of An Engine Car The Color Of Coal, A String Of Shiny Passenger Cars Trailing Behind. One Day My Father Laughed And Corrected Me. Everything Snapped Into Focus. It's One Of Those Unforgettable Moments That Happen As A Child, When You Discover That All Along The World Has Been Betraying You.