The subtle scent of
crinkled paper,
dust,
and timelessness fills my nostrils.
Here, the world stops.
I have no age,
no responsibilities.
I am free,
free to remember,
free to forget.
I am four,
Seventeen,
fifty.
I am your mother,
Your sister,
your friend.
I am nobody,
But more of a
somebody
than I have ever been before.
I curl up, attempting to loose myself
In the peaceful quiet
that engulfs me.
My every sense is heightened,
sharpened.
The faint echoes of former inhabitants
of these pages
whisper out to me seductively,
drawing me in,
flowing through my brain.
I am who I imagine,
whatever I want to be.
The harmony of your words caresses my tongue softly,
an unstoppable river of
silent, mouthed beauty.
The third page tells me that
Meghan was here,
But for now,
This
book
is
mine
alone.