Sometimes when I see a beloved book on a bookshelf at a store or a cafe, I want to hug it.
To press it close to my chest and hang on to it until I've paid for it with my free hand and they've handed me a receipt for it.
Like today, on finding Seamus Heaney's collected prose at The Cafe Upstairs. What a rare treasure!
I hugged it tight for a while before moving away from the shelf.
There you are! Am I happy to see you. Come, we need to talk. I want to know everything about you that I've missed.
I can't do that with an e-book. Hug a title, that is.
The rest of the meeting is just as exuberant. Just the squeeze is missing.
That Squeeze.
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