“There are infinites everywhere. Between my two hands, there are millions of billions of atoms that have been around for millions and billions of years before I was born, and that will be around for millions an billions of years after I am dead. I hold in between my hands pieces of a saber-toothed…
You know that moment when you’re reading a book and you just have to stop and bite your lip and squeal or sigh or close your eyes and wrinkle your nose and forehead and press the book against your heart and just like sit there and try to soak up the gorgeous literature via osmosis?
That’s my favorite part of reading.
People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to…
