It has become very, very apparent to me that I need to buy a bookshelf. I have been holding out hoping for that perfect second-hand wooden bookcase preferably from some memorable era. It could look like it could be falling down at any given second, or that it has lived to see Magellan come and go, Rizal exiled and executed, and… oh, you get the picture. But this kind of piece is quite hard to come by. And if it does come by, it might not be until 20 years from now. And 20 years from now that piece might cost about a million pesos, in which case I would just end up buying something modern anyway.
I feel like any day now my books are gonna raise arms against me in protest of their present situation. I’m sure the floor is comfortable enough (it is tiled after all) and definitely cool. But looking at them, I think some sort of war is going on among them (and I’d like to think that some are siding with me). They need to get organized. And not against me. So I give in: I am buying them a bookshelf.
To my books: Just be patient a little while, my preciouses. I’m eyeing a shelf that I think is perfect enough.