Voltaire's Theater Volume two.
Pink paperback.
Worn, though I do not believe this book was ever read. Most likely it sat on a shelf, eventually, it was put into a box and stuffed in an attic. Years later an antique dealer bought the belongings of the house. Discovering the book(s) he found them interesting, decorative, valuable enough to sell. I bought three. I haven't read them, they sit as decorative objects on my shelf.
Stories, dreams, hopes…
Are they sitting on a shelf?
Or are they in an undiscovered box in a faraway attic?
What do I need to take out of my box, dust off, and let it unfold? What part of ourselves have we put into a box out of sight? Where do our stories take us? What chapter are we on?
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