books.

there are two bookshelves in my room. they stand on either side of the double set of windows, majestically framing the small yellow room. though the one on the righthand side was only acquired at the beginning of the season, it too is already filled with novels -- fiction, mostly. fantasy, classics, and young adult volumes that i either bought on sale at barnes and noble or got from my internship. most are in english, but an entire shelf is dedicated to French books -- 19th century classics and modern day novellas, or autobiographies of the struggling youth in the Parisian banlieues (suburbs).

what sort of twenty-one year old non-literature major has two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in her bedroom?

two bookshelves.

and yet, after glancing at each title, i find myself pathetic.

twenty-one years, two bookshelves.
is that all ?