He took a crowbar to the built-in bookshelves in the run down house that he had big dreams for.
It smelt of dust and faded memories, and he wore a mask and goggles to protect himself from the splintering wood. As he pulled out the last shelf, something caught his eye as he went to add it to the pile behind him.
Words scratched into wood. “To my dearest love June. May we fill this house with as many memories as there are words in your beloved books.”
He ran his hand over the wood. Smiled a wistful smile.
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