"You must be quite a romantic." "Were you a literature major in school?" "Interesting collection, kind of all over the place."
That is what some of my yard sale customers said to me yesterday. After perusing my book piles, they had each come to a simple conclusion. Just by looking at my discarded tomes, they had seen enough to think they knew all about me. (Oddly enough, I wasn't a lit major.) They were pretty close to the mark. I know most people don't like to admit it, but what we own does say so much about us.
I am hopeless. A Hopeless romantic. No matter how I try to hide it, the truth does lie in everything I own. The movies, the books, the music. All of them reveal my not-so-dirty little secret. I do love a good love story. All kinds; from the classic to the unconventional. All over that yard sale table was the evidence of my predilection for the all encompassing emotion of love. In all it's forms, functions and foibles.
I'm happy that my favorite stories are out there, making other people fall for them too. Seems only fair to let others enjoy what has brought me so much happiness. I wish my books luck in their new homes. May they become a small part of who their owners are. A small window into their souls. Baring that, I hope they keep the table leg straight.