I’m sitting at the front desk of the bookstore (at the corner computer where you can usually find me) and struggling to write. I have been putting off this particular task for about a week and haven’t found the motivation to put my feelings into words. I am leaving Island Books, and this will be my last journal.
Today is my final day at the bookstore, and I am trying to soak up every second of it. There is so much joy to be had during my closing shifts, sitting with the quiet and taking in the rustle of a patron flipping through pages and the geometrical pleasantness of so many colorful rectangular book covers. Something I have recognized lately is that I can’t smell the smell of the books anymore, and it’s not just because I am wearing a mask. The smell has settled in my brain, and I can’t differentiate it from the smell of general life... continued.