Les Livres
The smell of that bookstore flooded my senses when I walked through the door. This was my place of worship. The shelves were the pews and they were filled with every beautiful word that has ever been written.
I lightly let my fingertips graze over the covers as I walked down the aisle. Each one was a world of its own. This was the extraterrestrial, the metaphysical that lead me to know that there has to be more than this. I looked at these books and stood before the universe.
There was only the sound of turning pages and my boots walking across that cement floor. It was better than silence to me. I loved hearing those echos, like they were filling the room to speak to my desires for words.
This was the place to save souls. These pages had answers, and mirrors to our essence. Books are something spiritual and emotional, they connect us to something that is starting to fade from the human experience. The smell of those bindings are windows to another time, and those letters on the page are a conversation with someone who is guiding us to wisdom.
These words are the stitches of my damaged heart, the food of my soul and teachers of my mind. Prose is what fills my veins, what is deep in my bones.
These words give me sight and help me speak.
These pages will house my ghost.
