Passed by a second-hand shop today and saw a tattered old book of German fairy tales. I can't read a single word of it. But for some reason, I bought it anyway. Now it sits quietly on my desk, like an unclaimed island, holding stories from another world that no one tells anymore. Sometimes I think we collect things we can't understand because deep down, we also wish someone would gently keep the parts of ourselves that no one else understands.