Member-only story
Bookstore Tears
I have become the woman who cries in public.
It is no secret that I’ve been feeling lost lately.
Lost. Angry. Disappointed. Sad.
My stomach hurts, my body aches, and my heart is in tatters. Unfortunately, my mind won’t shut the fuck up long enough for me to catch my breath and find a moment of peace or a sliver of hope.
Today, when my wife called to check in, she suggested I do something different: get out of the house.
I’ve been a disappointing partner recently, and, unfortunately, I have zero energy to do better. But, I also had a gift card to a nearby book store, and I very much wanted to be able to report that, yes, today I did something other than clean, cook, and cry on the couch.
So, off I went.
As I walked through the oversized glass doors, the smell of ink and paper and coffee and binding glue hit me hard.
Isn’t it strange how certain stores have certain smells? No matter where they are located? It was a big breath of nostalgia—an olfactory-fueled time machine into the past.
All my life, books have been my sanctuary. They were secret worlds I could burrow into to escape my real life's mundane or terrifying moments.
