Bells tinkle in the
cold letting the warmth and
musty smell of old paper settle
around me
swirling, twirling,
with the snow
Filling my head with visions
of pirates and queens,
forests, and freedom
Imagination colliding with reality
taking the form of
whatever you can imagine.

I wander through
the labyrinth of shelves,
shedding layers, falling
Unguarded
Tracing old bindings and
ancient words
Drunk on the possibilities that
surround me,

ideas frozen in time,

protecting me from life,
Allowing me to escape
and live anothers story

and feel their emotions
If only until the book
ends.