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
Alecia Writes 