The Book Shelf

I have this book shelf and it's overflowing with promise and books. It's all the books I have yet to read or started and finished. It's prominently placed in my living room, so I can get easy access to books whenever I want to. And to remind me that they are there when I get to wrapped up in watching TV or working.

When I first conceived this book shelf, I looked at it with such delight and hope. It's my shelf of Books to read! All the books I want to read and all the books I feel I should read. You know, so I could be a good cultured man of the 2010's.

And through time, the book shelf has filled up with so many books; books were squeezed in and books were stacked on top. All kinds of great books have landed on this shelf; some are fiction, some are non-fiction, some are books on Gods and Man and Myth. Sometimes I will pick one up and skim a few pages or read the back or look for the chapter that I stopped reading and see if I remember anything. Then I'll put them back down.

But now I look at it in fear, and disgust with angry eyes. I hate these books, why won't they leave me alone. Why do they ask me to read them? And why I can't I just pick one? Why I can't I just sit down and start reading one? Is it that damn hard? Won't I keep reading if I start it? And everyday they just sit there, staring at me, taunting me. They keep asking me what's wrong with me, is it so damn hard to pick a book? And sometimes they call me a coward.

I hate that stupid book shelf.