It’s the first one I’ve bought in years; though it’s hardly considered a proper book. Not bound by glue, pressed to perfection; but threaded with string, pages loosely flapping. With the fluttery enthusiasm of a naive lover, with the speedreading skills of a fresh-faced scientist; I tackled it. I was reading poetry– poetry!
words in arbitrary
lost children and exploring colonists
professionals stamping the page
with their mark of
I read 3 in a minute. Their brevity, though oddly arranged, no match for my research-paper-trained eyes. Or so I thought! But the words slipped by like silver fish through a too-large sieve.
I think I’ve been doing this Literature business wrong. I’m treating it like a Science (my current field of study)– to be Coursera-ed, memorised, learnt, understood. To be ripped apart, assembled at will; because everyone knows the sum of its parts are supposed to make a whole. Well, words aren’t like that! I should’ve known.
Some things aren’t meant to be rushed… Some things aren’t meant to be peered at through microscopes, the intense scrutiny paradoxically magnifying the spaces between the lines we’re supposed to read.
Maybe it’s meant to be savoured; each word carefully, carelessly tasted like blue cheese on an untrained palate. Warm afternoons and hot tea and sweet cakes the recipe for Understanding. A friend the catalyst to Feeling.
Ahaha I may just do this yet. =^^=