Must Read Poetry Books Mga Nobela at Kwento

Before Alexander, I used to spend entire afternoons browsing used bookstores, discovering new poets, buying novels with coffee-stained covers. "You used to love getting lost in places like this," Derek continues. "You'd disappear between the shelves for hours, then emerge with an armload of books you couldn't afford." "I still read." "Do you? Or do you read what Alexander thinks you should read? Business biographies? Society magazines?" The question stings because it's accurate. My bedside table is filled with books that look impressive but leave me feeling empty. "There's a poetry section in the back," Derek says casually. "Why don't you see if anything speaks to you?"

Novels, grimoires, Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson. Wait, what? The Emily Dickinson? She hid most of her poems until the day she died, but looking at this book, holding it, it feels like everything she had written is in here. It's a lot, there were still poems of her that I haven't read yet, I never knew about its existence until now. I quickly opened the book and the pages were amazing, you know that scent of old books? This one has it, that one familiar scent of home, of comfortability, of coffee in the early morning while it's raining. I stopped on a particular poem, one I've read over and over again. I'm Nobody! Who are you?