6 January 2013

I shuffle through the library Staring at every title. The dim light casts a warm glow On books like classics and bibles.

My hand grazes an ebony bookshelf, Fingers dancing across the spines. I shift my head to the counter Where a man is paying fines.

I focus back on the books. Wishing for one to pop out. My gaze rests on a leather spine, A book that I can't go without.

I slide it out of it's snug place, The title sounds so intriguing. I flip through the yellowed pages The faded print is fatiguing.

Even so, I read the first line, Then the paragraph, page, chapter. I slide, so I'm sitting on the Navy wool carpet, it's my captor.

I cry. I laugh. I even dream Of what will happen next. I don't move at all, not an inch, This book isn't just small black text.

I am the purest true hero. I accept the toughest quest. I defeat the evil villian. Yet I do not get the least bit stressed.

Then I flip the last ancient page. I drown in the deepest sorrow. I get up and dust off the book, Knowing I'll be back tomorrow...

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