without me

i am incredibly saddened when i find books that have been given to me that i haven't bothered to read. somehow, reading seems like the duty i have that i constantly neglect. it's the soul-healing activity that i consistently ignore. that's the feeling i get when i find a book on my desk that was given to me in 2004. 2005. 2006. a cheerful well-wish and love expressed in a hand-written note on the inside cover. happy birthday, scott. love with all my heart... and i let it just sit there. and it's not the lover gone from my life that bums me out... it's that someone went to the trouble to pick out that volume for me, and i leave it's pages unturned, it's spine uncreased. i'm sorry.