Bookstores

 

(New Orleans City Park - photo by me)

She embraced the connection with bookstores because she had no friends. Beings made from blood and skin, farts and tears, would turn the other way whenever she appeared. It wasn't that she was a horrible person, but only that no one cared about her and the words that spilled from her mouth. She couldn't see the attraction of making small talk, or caring about someone's kid on a sports team. Do you dream, she would ask people. Are you afraid of the sky? Why did the gods of old leave us? No one would answer her, and so she turned her questions to books. Silent, resilient through the times, and ready to accept her for who and what she was. She enjoyed turning the pages, causing the dust from the words to rise up and tickle her nose. She savoured wandering through bookstores during rainy days, knowing that she would be home soon with a new friend. Bookstores attracted the restless, the lovers, the insomniacs, and the stimulators. She dipped her new book in a cup of Tea and proclaimed that both were now real. For one small moment, she thought she had gone entirely insane. Perhaps, maybe soon, possibly never. She turned away from her humanity and felt nothing else. 

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