...it seems too integral to pass up.

While I was in college, primarily, words were lovely for the sake of themselves, but books often became objects of lust. I’d collect anthologies to display proudly, but I’d only read what was assigned for class. I’d proudly display classics while being able to boast having read only a couple of them. Posters weren’t a matter of actually liking the images so much as having something to cover the walls, something to amass. Clothes, similarly, were given as gifts and kept in my closet, unworn. Why not take them back or exchange them for something a little more me?

Not that I’m a hoarder or a conspicuous consumer, it’s just that I know what I like and I know I’m insanely particular, but I always feel like I should branch out, expand my interests and subsequently, I try new colors, new schemes and invariably, they end up becoming clutter.

Must take a second to breathe, then, to realize that there are things I do, in fact, favor and there are things I do, in fact, not. There is no reason to follow anyone else’s definitions with regard to personal taste and so I will either love something or leave it on the shelf or the hanger or the rack at the store.

This covers everything, I think. Books, furniture, food, clothes, apartments, cities, activities, people, etc.

I know better, it’s just so easy to get caught up in the sparkle of it all. No more, eh?