Monday, January 18, 2016

An Open Letter to Non-Fiction

Dear Non-Fiction,

I saw you hanging out on the bottom shelf today. And I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I thought that you probably saw me. I mean, I saw you…of course you saw me. Yes, I’ve been getting your messages. I get them all. I haven’t responded because, honestly, I don’t know how to respond. So much has happened since, well, you know.

Sorry, I didn’t want to make this awkward. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Ever since you made me read that one book about that one guy, I haven’t been the same. I wish I could remember his name. His story. But I can’t.

I. Can’t.

Last year, I read the first two chapters of a book about Marie Antoinette. I even tried to start Catch Me If You Can. I opened a history of languages…and closed it an hour later, almost totally unread. Fascinating stories, all of them, yet I couldn’t bring myself to finish any of them. So, now I finally know. It’s not you. It’s me.

Maybe we can try again next year, but right now I really don’t think it’s a good idea to jump into anything hasty. We’ve both been burned, and I don’t think I could take another let-down right now. I don’t want to say never, but I know it’ll be a while. Months, even years. I hope you can understand.

See you around,


Michelle spends most of her days deciding when she can eat next. 
Oh, and she writes stuff and things. 

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