All my fault

I killed something I dearly loved. And I did it on Christmas.

I used to love the smell of coffee and books, the way wall-to-wall bookshelves made me feel instantly at home. I love the feel of a good book in my hands, too. The way the first pages fan out as you open the cover, the feel of the paper under my thumbs, flipping through to the end for spoilers before I even read the beginning. I loved it. I loved it all.

I even imaged a future library in my home, filled with those lovely smelly books from floor to ceiling. I had over 200 of my own books already, just waiting for me to settle down and buy the right shelving. But no more. That dream is gone, and I have nothing but my own weakness to blame.

Because I am also an addict. I can't help myself when it comes to a reading list, and I am a sucker for that quick fix. It started with Google Books and quickly snowballed into an uncontrollable need to have that new book now, right now, this second. And then I did the unthinkable.

I asked Santa Claus for a Kindle.

And now, seven months later, Borders Books is closing down. My once beloved refuge is shutting its doors on the world forever.

I killed Borders, and Santa was my hit-man.