Monday, September 21, 2009


She walked down the aisle looking for just the right spot, her body on autopilot, her mind a mess. She slid the old worn cover into it's place, snuggled up on either side by other well-loved books. Just another day at work. The old book store has been around for as long as anyone can remember. The musty smell is comforting. The secluded corners filled with overstuffed armchairs are perfect for becoming invisible in. This is her heaven.
She begins to lose herself, but her work continues. Lost in her own thoughts, wading through the thickness, trying to make her way to higher ground where she can observe the thoughts converse, instead of being caught in between the collisions. But she can't find her way out. A few thoughts seem intent on pushing themselves forward. The ones about him. Of course.
Another book, another slot, another page, another thought.
What will it take? How much longer must she wait? When is the right time? Patience.
I'm ready now, she thinks. She looks at the door, imagining his beautiful eyes searching her out as he walks in. Finding her, he smiles, walks over and grabs her hand. "I'm ready now to" he says. "And I want you". And right there in between the books, she shoves all her thoughts aside and they kiss.
Finally. Her time has come, her number has been called, it's her turn.
She smiles and closes her eyes. She can feel his hand in her hair, the other on the side of her face. His hands are so perfect. So perfect. The smell of him isn't like anything else. It's boy smell. Adventure, strength, desire, comfortable, safe. Can you die from happiness? Even if you can't, she would be okay dying right now, this happy. So happy.
She opens her eyes. There is no beautiful boy standing in front of her. There are no hands. No one else heard his voice. She looks towards the door, and the street is empty. Her cruel mind. Thoughts playing tricks again, making her believe that much happiness exists at one time. She sighs and puts the last book in it's place.
Just like this place, just like these books, her life is make-believe. Her daydreams her only companion.
Please. Just please.


  1. Wow... that was blooming brilliant. This isn't writing, this is like a journal entry. It is absolutely amazing.