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The Library

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The young girl opens the door with the familiarity and ease of one who has done it many times before. Which world to choose today? she wonders. She drinks in each book with a wanderlust that only books can satisfy.
A dog-eared Pride and Prejudice, so old it was her grandmother's before it captivated her mother.
The Chronicles of Narnia; close enough to her heart that they could have been her own childhood adventures.
She smiles upon the bright Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books; this library belongs not to dusty, untouched tombs, this library is every color of the rainbow. Her mother has friends like that; her own Lena and Carmen and Bridget and Tibby: they are their own sisterhood. Her mother also says that books are her companions.
She agress. Dragons, fairies, and elves have flitted through her dreams as long as she can remember, beckoning her to unknown lands full of adventures untold. "With you, I can be a princess in a faraway castle", she says to one friend; to the next, "a dreamer in Brooklyn".
Last and loveliest of all, her gaze rests upon the seven Harry Potters, well worn by age and love, cherished every single day. "With you I am myself." She remembers the sound of her mother's voice on summer nights, the magic of the Harry's tale drowning out the sound of peepers and thunderstorms. The winter nights she spends with him, nestled in her bed, with only a flashlight to see. Her mother tells her she'll ruin her eyes, just like her mother did as a child. It's worth it, she thinks.
She hears her name being called, seeming to come from somewhere far away; a distant land, a different time. She pulls herself down from castles in the sky, back to her own reality.She mustn't forget she has her own story to tell.
As she turns to leave, she spots a small collection of mismatched books: small and large, some with edges frayed, pages falling out. Her mothers journals. She cries with her mother, rejoices, mourns; realizes that her mother as she once was, and these beloved characters, are more than just names. They are her friends.
As she leaves the library for the day, the books seem to breathe a collective sigh, hoping she will soon return.



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Brazz said...
May 9, 2011 at 6:50 pm
You've captured my heart with this one. :) This is the true essence of stories, and what it means to be a storytraveler. You have my utmost respect.
 
WindDancer replied...
May 9, 2011 at 7:11 pm
Thank you SO MUCH!! I appreciate your constant, honest support SO much. Thank you thank you thank you!!
 
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