Where books go to die...

At the back of the storage room in the library where I work, there's the big green bin where books go to die. Sometimes people try to donate books too damaged to sell; not sure what they're thinking when they donate half a book, or three torn books from an encyclopedia set. Sometimes library books are too worn out or damaged to go for sale as well. All of these books go in to the recycling bin. It makes me sad, and strangely sentimental – I see all these books that were either loved too much or not enough, and they are going to be made into something else. It makes me sad to see a good book in there – it might be made into something depressing, like a Watchtower magazine, or a Twilight reprint.

The wind only talks to me when I'm singing, because it doesn't really want me to hear what it has to say.

A.N.

You've freed yourself from every tie that still binds me, yet you're no freer than I am. Does this say more about you, or me?