I look back and find thousands of days that I’ve spent wishing for the unattainable, regretting of what cannot be changed and missing people I can never have. Seldom did I cherish of what I always had. Seldom did I spend time on what was always on my shelf. Like it’s my habit to want more books, I try to fill my table with every color, Stacking newer books into my shelf. Spending time on the book stores craving to get them to my wooden shelf, even though I know I neither have enough money to buy it nor enough time to read it. I just have an insane need to see them on my shelf. Now I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, books won’t feel anything(perks of being non living), but you… you would. When one day you get this sudden urge to read an old book, maybe…