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I turn around on the gravel and go back to the house for a book, something to read at the doctor’s office, and while I am inside, running the finger of inquisition along a shelf, another me that did not bother to go back to the house for a book heads out on his own, rolls down the driveway, and swings left toward town, a ghost in his ghost car, another knot in the string of time, a good three minutes ahead of me — a spacing that will now continue for the rest of my life.
Billy Collins, I Go Back to the House for a Book
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(via Crafty is Cool)
Posted on April 19, 2010 via PEE-WEE'S PLAYHOUSE with 7,606 notes
Source: peeweesplayhouse
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(via nickibinds)
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