The contents of the last box that you left in my apartment.
One copy of Infinite Jest, half worn in, the other half untouched. You referred to this as life changing and enlightening, but yet here it remains at my apartment, seemingly unfinished. I’m sure you’ll get to it someday.
One copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance that appears to have previously belonged to your high school library, how did they let you graduate with those overdue fines? Very worn. I think this was the first book that made you realize that books were a thing. Previous to that I think you had Gameboys? You were assigned it for summer reading junior year and then it was your summer reading every year until you graduated college.
One copy of Slaughterhouse-Five. You wouldn’t listen to me when I told you to buy Cat’s Cradle or Sirens of Titan. You looked at me through your glasses and said, “Vonnegut is overrated,” and we watched the movie.
One very pristine copy of Bad Feminist, seemingly untouched. I got this for you. We’ll keep this.
One copy of Dianetics, patiently highlighted. This was an experiment after you stopped going to church with your mom. I believed you when you said you weren’t that into it. I mean, I think. Right?
One copy of The Art of War, binding destroyed, pages falling out. This seems the most logical summary of relationship. I toss it.
One copy of Dune, gently loved. I saw this book sticking out of your book bag one day and commented on my love for sci fi. We ended up watching Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy back at your dorm room later that week. We’ll keep this one too.