Spines

I tiptoed down the steps and ran my fingers along the spines of books and books, breathing quietly and staring in wonder. I tilted my head and I leaned into the bookshelf, smiling as if embracing a long lost lover. The co-op bookstore will do this to you. It's a secret place, hidden underground at U of C, tucked under the roots of ancient trees. I used to go most every weekend with my parents and I would post up in a plastic chair with a stack of books to page through. I would choose a few and head home, losing myself in narrative for days. I thought I had lost my reading lust but staring at the assortment of titles, I was thirsty again. What's inside? i wondered, reaching for "Arctic Summer" by E.M. Forster. I wanted all of the stories for my own. I wanted to lose myself in the words, forget time, forget troubles, and just breathe in the crystal castles that words make in all of their invisible grace. I want to be invisible too, only regaining color when I've discovered something true.