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The Library
12 years ago
General
You can't have the library. The library is mine. It's always been mine, and always will be. You never go there and I spend all my free time hiding in the stacks and running my hands across centuries of binding and dust and rust and knowledge. The knowledge of generations. I love the library and know every inch of it. It's my place, not your's.
You can't have the library. You're not allowed to make upsetting memories with me there, and you're not allowed to make excessively happy ones either, because when you die or get tired of me (whichever comes first) it'll pain me to be in my library. All I'll be able to think of is you when I'm there for me. I don't like the thought.
You can't have the library. It's where I go to hide away in volumes of history and science. My eyes dance from Japanese printmaking to Marie Curie. It's a kind of sloppy magic that can only be expressed in wonder and words. I love being trapped and wrapped in endless print and text. It's a feeling I wouldn't expect you to understand. I could go on and on forever this way.
You can't have the library. I do all of my best work there. The top floor's many study rooms and giant circular windows that you can climb into have been my home for two years now. The city sprawls out in a maze of action and movement below. The birds and squirrels skitter across it's long paved walkways. The sturdy walls shut out the noise and bustle of the outside world and enclose a sweet, warm, sense of endlessness. Everything lives in the library. The past is vibrant there.
You can't have the library.
You just can't.
You stayed with me until I finished my work tonight. We sat together for hours between the pauses in the stacks, and spoke in low tones to silence. We watched the motionless night roll on far below us. We sat in a puddle of smiles and stupid tacky jokes for an eternity on the library floor. We listened to subtle tones in country and love in the music of a people. We hid in history and slowly we became the only two in the world, and then we drifted to the door of my empty building and you held my hand the whole way back.
You can't have the library, but you already do.
If I see you tomorrow, and you can't stand to be around me, the library will be your's and I'll have to find somewhere else that only I know about. Away from everything that could be bad, OR good.
Away from memory itself.
Someplace only I can have.
Someplace no one else can have.
Someplace you can't have.
But the library.. you can have the library.
You can't have the library. You're not allowed to make upsetting memories with me there, and you're not allowed to make excessively happy ones either, because when you die or get tired of me (whichever comes first) it'll pain me to be in my library. All I'll be able to think of is you when I'm there for me. I don't like the thought.
You can't have the library. It's where I go to hide away in volumes of history and science. My eyes dance from Japanese printmaking to Marie Curie. It's a kind of sloppy magic that can only be expressed in wonder and words. I love being trapped and wrapped in endless print and text. It's a feeling I wouldn't expect you to understand. I could go on and on forever this way.
You can't have the library. I do all of my best work there. The top floor's many study rooms and giant circular windows that you can climb into have been my home for two years now. The city sprawls out in a maze of action and movement below. The birds and squirrels skitter across it's long paved walkways. The sturdy walls shut out the noise and bustle of the outside world and enclose a sweet, warm, sense of endlessness. Everything lives in the library. The past is vibrant there.
You can't have the library.
You just can't.
You stayed with me until I finished my work tonight. We sat together for hours between the pauses in the stacks, and spoke in low tones to silence. We watched the motionless night roll on far below us. We sat in a puddle of smiles and stupid tacky jokes for an eternity on the library floor. We listened to subtle tones in country and love in the music of a people. We hid in history and slowly we became the only two in the world, and then we drifted to the door of my empty building and you held my hand the whole way back.
You can't have the library, but you already do.
If I see you tomorrow, and you can't stand to be around me, the library will be your's and I'll have to find somewhere else that only I know about. Away from everything that could be bad, OR good.
Away from memory itself.
Someplace only I can have.
Someplace no one else can have.
Someplace you can't have.
But the library.. you can have the library.
