I traveled over 100 miles last night – a thousand counting my dreams – and I woke up in a cozy apartment in New England. The different parts of the room which meet my eyes reaffirm the marriage between literature and gardens. Consequentially, the happy couple who own this place met in the Botanic Gardens at our school, and share a deep love for literature.
Usually when I walk into spaces, I look at the bookshelves, because I feel as though the texts and the knick-knacks that fill the surfaces give me deeper insight into the person who placed those items there. To me, favorite books are like horcruxes, because the readers leave pieces of themselves in the journey the author takes them.
I write this, hoping this makes sense, but primarily wondering if you can tell anything about the people who filled these shelves?