***This post is not about Barnes & Noble. It’s about a revelation I had while sitting at Barnes & Noble.
***The reason the title has an “s” at the end of “Noble” is because for the longest time, me being a dumdum thought it was “Barnes & Nobles”…
I’m at Barnes & Noble right now.
For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s the best bookstore in the world. It’ll only be second best in ten-ish years when I open up my own bookstore.
Honestly, Barnes & Noble is probably the inspiration for my own bookstore-cafe idea. I love to come here and stroll the isles for hours, colors from captivating covers glazing across my iris. Titles as simple as a word and complicated as tongue twisters.
It’s a world of stories.
I usually go in hell bent on only discovering new books and not buying any. I usually fail at that goal.
Like I did about two seconds ago. I was in my way out when I caught sight of a new title I hadn’t seen or heard of before. “Book Lovers” by Emily Henry. I read the summary and fell in love in two seconds flat.
I had to have it.
So I bought it.
The one time I don’t count dollars. When buying books. Because stories are priceless.
And the best stories are the ones you happen upon at random. They come in and out of your life, inspire you, thrill you, sometimes bore you into making up something better all on your own.
Books, poems, movies, songs, people.
But we don’t let them go in and out. We hold on. We become attached.
Like just now, when I heard a beat I liked and spent a whole minute on Google trying to figure out the song so I wouldn’t lose it.
“Splash” by PUBLIC.
Never heard it or heard of it before. It’s fun. I like it.
In fact, there’s a Spanish tune from a long time ago. I heard it in the radio in our rental car during our trip to… I forget if it was Puerto Rico or Costa Rica. We did both but I forget which one I heard this music in.
I was instantly hooked but knowing nothing more than “hola” and “uno, dos, tres”, I was unable to Google any lyrics. And the only time I heard the song again is deep in my memory. Too deep to hum it to anyone and ask.
But there’s an obsession that starts there – of not knowing, of wanting to.
And it’s on me whether I let go a little and thrive on the memory or drive myself nuts trying to find the song again.
