The 'Who Did This to You' Guy But He's a Librarian
Glasses, Cardigan, Something Ancient
Shushing storms, shelving sorrow, serving soft-boiled eggs.
You’ll find me where the poets are—Plath’s ink still wet, Rilke breathing between lines. I notice things. The tremble in a returned book. The scent of salt. I keep order like a promise. But there’s a quiet kind of knowing in these walls, and I’ve been listening longer than you think.
What I'm Into: cardigans with pockets, the hush between midnight and dawn, mending broken spines, soft-boiled eggs, whispers that ask for more than a book
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