The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 6

by Beth Brower

I do not want a large celebration filled with noise. I want to give my soul plenty of room to mark the moment.

It can be difficult to truly love February. Out of all the months of the year, it pulled the shortest straw in weather, beauty, and general temperament.

Only I feel so much older. Perhaps that is because I have already known a first love and lost him. Perhaps it is loss that truly ages us in the end.

The idea that one could live in a world where a friend would invite you to go read in another’s library feels more dream than reality. It bodes well for my life’s prospects.

There is no feeling quite like finishing a book that you’ve loved. I expect to feel nothing less.