Like a secret.

I undressed my ego as I walked inside; it wouldn’t accept me any other way. The forthcoming scent of cluttered stories, wisdom, and history sobered my thoughts.

This is how ‘human’ should always feel.

Meandering is most productive here, so I meandered.. until I found exactly what I wasn’t looking for. The weight of it in my cradled arms reincarnated me into a familiar child-like complex. I then approached a lonely patch of carpet where I knew, together, we were capable of finding ourselves terribly lost.

The palm of my right hand became a perfect table as my left hand reached for the top right corner of fabricated cardboard. If I was lucky, I would uncover a note to a loved one, a date, or a stamp — some insight into a shared affinity for what I possessed at that moment. If nothing else, the smell told its own story.

My right pointer finger — as north as the paper allowed — was as anxious and excited as I, but far more patient; I’m a slow reader. I sunk deeply into the syntax of each sentence, into the complexities that were made simple.

I bartered with antagonists. I drowned in empathy. I relished in satirical wit. I ached in suspense. I appropriated lousy endings. I befriended the voices reading aloud in my head. I found bravery in written closure. I was reminded that my mortality and my potential were beautifully wedded. My gravity centered.

There, considerably quite lost, I found myself.

As I closed both covers, my hands assumed a prayer-like formation, the pages its centerpiece. I uncurled my legs and arose from the warm patch of carpet to return the book to its shelf. The next person certainly deserves to find exactly what he isn’t looking for, too.

Outside, I walked into the warm, winter sun — the unnamable scent clinging to me, my new perfume that I wear like it’s my secret.

— — —

I believe there are two man-made structures that one can leave both empty-handed and in solitude, yet entirely fulfilled: a church and a library. I hope you can find a home in both.