Begin Again With Books

 It’s been a while since I last read a book.
It’s been a while since I last wrote, too.
You happened to ask what I was doing, so I said I was reading.
To be honest, I’ve lied before, saying I was reading even when I wasn’t.

I thought if I said it enough, maybe one day it would become true.
Was I trying to impress you? I’m not sure.
 

 Someone I used to date got back in touch recently.
We met a couple of times.
He said he ran away because he was scared.
I thought how cowardly, especially for someone your age.
I, too, was scared of what people might think,
but I never once considered running.
He started saying things he didn’t need to say,
pouring them out like they’d been waiting at the edge of his tongue.
You used to be so quiet when we were together.

And now, he speaks like a frightened child,
though he’s much older than I am.
We were never cruel to each other—
not when we broke up, not even when we met again.
We met quietly, and we ended things quietly.
I didn't think I’ll be back with him again,
but I did wonder why he shut his mouth the way his did.
He finally seemed certain about something,
but I no longer need that certainty. 

It’s like breaking up with him all over again.

Still, I don’t hate him.
But I wonder

Do you hate me?

Back to today—
The weather’s gotten noticeably warmer.
It means the friend I live with and I will probably go out more.
We’ve spent two years in the same space,
and another two years in different ones,
but we still enjoy each other’s company.
Maybe we were married in a past life.
I brought home a few books from my parents’ place.
You don’t seem like someone who reads often,
but when I read, I imagine you might open a book someday, too.
I picked up a book I never finished in high school.
It’s difficult.
Maybe it was easier for me back then.
I’m suddenly proud of that younger self,
the one who used to write so earnestly at such a young age.

 I think I’ll start reading and writing more often now.
I feel like I finally have the space and experience to return.
Books show their worth more clearly the closer you keep them.
And now, my brain is starting to stir again—
just like all the green shoots sprouting in the spring.

On this warm day,
I begin again with books.