Fingers Itch. My heart races.
The handle is warm and sticky from others opening and closing it. I step into a beautiful room. Full of countless books and knickknacks to be sold. I want to laugh. I feel excited, and overwhelmed. I have two hours.
Will I be able to search through every aisle and bookcase in that amount of time? Will I be able to run my fingers down every spine and dance them across every smooth page? Will I be able to find the perfect book today?
It doesn’t matter.
All books are perfect. The scent; woody and fresh with a hint of aged dust. The feel; rough, delicate and oddly inspirational. I would like to be a book.
I let my feet lead me down a row and I find myself softly pulling out a paperback. Its words swirl dramatically in my mind. The scent devours my senses and the words pick me up in a bundle of adverbs and commas. They transport me somewhere else, with a faint smile sneaking on my face. A woman wearing the store’s logo pads her way over to me, asks me if I need help. I shake my head, sending my ponytail swinging, holding up the paperback in my left hand. I’m fantastic, I’d say. Just hunting for my next adventure.
Written by Alecia Writes