I’ve finally made a breakthrough in understanding my personal psychology when it comes to book-hoarding…Books, to me, are so much more than stories. They are memories, markers of events, reminders of friendships, notable birthdays…and that is why, I can’t get rid of them. Even after I’ve read them and know it is unlikely that I’ll not do so again. Or, that I don’t think it possible that I’ll read them at all.

This thought struck me the other day when I was glancing at my bookshelves. In my head, as I took in the titles and authors, I began thinking over the pertinent information I associated with the books. That one was a present from my Nan and Grandad…I bought that one in that bookshop in Shrewsbury that’s no longer there…I remember picking that one out after a lecture in my first year at university in the Waterstones on campus…I was given that one after my Dad had read it and said he thought I would like it too…I was reading that one when we went on holiday to [insert destination here]…

Now I understand why I have so many books taking up so much space in my small home. And with this dawning of understanding, I have realised that no matter how hard I try to whittle away at their numbers, I will always be fighting an uphill battle, because I’ll not only be rehoming my books, but my memories also.
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