‘She’s just about to c
lose up the library…’
My footsteps make no sound on the thick carpeting, everything is muffled here. Silent, except for the flipping of pages and the clicking of keys. This is my favorite time of night, when most of them have gone to bed, to food, or to other entertainments provided elsewhere than here. No one chattering in my ear, no one making demands of me. Nothing but quiet. If you tune your ears to it, you can hear the whir of the generators, the low thrum of the engines. I wonder sometimes, when I got used to the constant vibrations, when they became a part of me, when I stopped noticing their presence.
I run my lazily fingertips along the spines, like caressing a lover. In order now, neat, shining, precise. As they should be. With things finally set to rights, I can actually look at them, let them talk, let them call to me. Get to know them again, the way I retrain my muscles to remember dance steps. My fingers hitch on a likely title, pause, examine, move on. Not the right one. Not for now. Finally, I tug down a selection, open the gate to another world.
This is who I am. This is where I belong. Beyond this, lies a world I need a break from. To disappear from. Just for a little while. Out there, everything is too complicated, too layered, too much.
Here and now, all that fades from view. Here the only heartaches are written, captured and pressed between covers, here the only pain comes from a pen. To be shelved, put away, and revisited later – if you can remember the title.
Put your faith in books child, when was the last time a book ever let you down….?
I feel I should only whisper in reply, lest I disturb the silence in the library. This is one of the most poignant and lovely pieces you’ve written, and so very true. A good novel is a magical thing.
…knew you’d get it…