The Warbler

by Sarah Beth Durst

Only leave with what you brought, or what’s exclusively yours—that’s safest. Only keep what doesn’t matter.

when you can’t control when you go, it’s nice to at least control how.

I planned to visit the coffee shop first, but the bookstore has a cat.

Priorities

all bookstores have the same kind of familiarity, a comforting sense of Here you’ll find what you need.

Even if all it offers is an illusion that lasts for a few hundred pages. I’ll take the illusion every time.

The best thing about books, at least for me, is that favorites can feel like home. Yet they’re portable and replaceable. Any copy will do. Even more, once you’ve read them, they’re part of you. You don’t need the actual book anymore. You can let them go without letting them go. It’s a rare and beautiful loophole in the rules that govern my life, and I’m grateful for it.

I am a rock skimming the surface of a pond, wanting to make ripples but afraid I’ll sink.

Everyone has excuses for why they stay or go.

I can handle this place. The greatest lie I’ve ever told myself.