For much of my life, I have loved to lie on my bed and just stare at my freaking beautiful, glorious bookshelf. Occasionally I’ll think about what it’d be like to come home with myself on a date for the first time — the joy it would be to roll over in the morning, to see all of those amazing titles in this new partner’s possession. The Fact of a Doorframe. Nazim Hikmet, Kepler’s Witch. “You like Grace Paley?” I would gasp gushily. “You keep The Voyage of the Beagle next to your bed?”
I think I would fall in love with myself, right there.*
*Assuming, of course, that I was not completely weirded out by anything in that “self-help and sexuality” section.