MY VOLUMES

I am a collector but do not like to share.

My collections are layers of me, my volumes. An onion of my personality. There is not enough of notebooks and blank paper for me to fill on everything I do find amusing, inspiring, motivating, gasping, funny and radiating.

Others collect butterflies, tattoos, photographs, memories, sex partners, fridge magnets, sugar packets, mirror reflections, memories. I collect words. Just now, in front of me lies six notebooks.

The light blue one is full of title names, questions to think twice about, name of the songs and one drawing. The red one is a 'writing lesson, prompt, Emerson notebook. Green is for beautiful articles, poems, stories that explain me dead on, teas, what other men wrote about love. A flowery one with a mirror butterfly in the right corner is the witty book, a status book, comment book. Withholding dumb and incredibly intelligent things people say. This one is the sequence to the little red one with the leather covers which is already written. And the last one is the little green one containing everything I am appreciative of. Sometimes we need to stand still and be grateful.

I'd write down anything that takes up on my liking in hopes I will need it someday.

What is your chronicle of little things?