We Need to talk.

She skimmed through the books on the shelves looking for something to catch her interest. Yet to no avail. The words stacked along those ledges where all mumbled together and not one of them seemed to be able to shine through like it usually would. She wondered if this was to be her faith. If this was to be the valley of which she confided herself to for the rest of her life. Maybe she just lost interest for books, as if she was growing tired of their relationship considering the breakup phase.

But essential to any break up was the options. What now? If not books then what? It was not just a hobby, it was a way of defining herself. The girl that reads books. I like books. I like books. I like reading. I like writing. I like literature and I like words. But she was left to taste those words and though they still rolled off her tongue with ease it felt more like a habit to say so. Rather than a passionate admission of interest. It was like their love had faded, even if just a little. But still she knew she really liked books. They had always had a great time together. They always did. But still, she just could not be bothered to contact him anymore.

Just could not bring herself to do it. I have stuff to do. She would tell herself. I need to clean my room. Do my homework. Wash the sink. Go see my grandmom go on a date with my friends. Go on a date with that cute guy. Take a shower. Take another shower. Sleep. Because she has school tomorrow and can’t afford to miss sleep. Maybe tomorrow instead. There’s an hour left of free time but maybe it would be better to just go to sleep and do something about it tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow. If I have time. We will see.

As such she was stuck in a perpetual denial. Does she still like books? How do you even know if you like something or not? Is it about looking within and finding some great truth in your emotions? In which case. What does it say about her supposed interests if she is simply not interested in them anymore? Or is this all really just something in which she has to make her own mind up about? Does she like the things she likes because she decided that she liked them or does she like them depending on a desire to engage in that activity?

And how much of that would be dictated by her current mood? And is her interest an average of what she is in the mood for or just something she sometimes is in the mood for? Maybe she was just going through a stage. That she didn’t know exactly but she hoped. and as such that was what she would tell herself. One day they would get back together and she would resume her identity as the reading girl. But not today. Tomorrow. And then tomorrow still. Maybe we just need some time apart? she thinks. And then she goes to bed. And slowly falls asleep as confused as ever.

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