#henry winter

justice is blind, more often than not. many animals thrive in the halls of law, they are not savages, yet slaughter the innocent for speaking truth. they are not evil incarnate, yet play with human life as if mere pawns in a game. they are not gods, but people in business suits.

Sonder. Its the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as you do. We may feel as if we alone precedes this world. We strive to be the main character. When in fact, we all have our differences. Life for me may feel like I’m living in a Donna Tartt novel. On the other hand, the eclectic old man I often see in my local bookstore would say that he is a lone ranger fighting off wicked men from the Wild West. The said old man is just one of the many figures I distinctly remember in my book-hunting escapades. These strangers— those I often see in bookstores made me realize that I am many things in a person’s life. A Hero. Villain. or simply a spectator.

you know what’s more intimate than a kiss? giving someone a personal copy of your favorite book. in all its tattered glory or near-perfect condition. ink highlights a memorable line— of a sentence that made your cry. or where countless post-its decorate the pages. in pinks, blues or yellows. others leave questions, or answers within hardbound copies, soft ones most of the time. it’d be even more surprising if someone left lipstick stains

“There are such things as ghosts. People everywhere have always known that. And we believe in them every bit as much as Homer did. Only now, we call them by different names. Memory. The unconscious.”