The Library

The thing is, in the stacks, when you are alone

and the florescent lights are so insistent in the coughing quiet,

and you have nowhere you need to be,

and the world is seven inches from your face (as you shift your weight from one sandal to the other),

and you are small, and there is so much hope,

and so much everything

and the buzzing of those stupid energy-saving lights is a mantra,

so that you feel a miniature sob slip up your lungs

because you are so happy,

you remember things.


2 thoughts on “The Library

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