Thursday, June 17, 2010

la bibliothèque

it is a place, that crumbles everything away. the newest of books acquire the same maroon binding, and within weeks, start decaying away. the smell of old paper pervades everything, and soon enough you don't even notice it's there.
and in this crumbling world, an old man sits at a big, old fashioned desk that is large enough to accommodate at least five people behind it. stacks of books clutter the desk; the books that have just been returned that he is still too lazy to get up and return to the shelves.
the shelves, tall, imposing, narrow stacks, that seem to turn up their nose at you and tip their books in crazy directions just to make it harder for you to find what you want.
uncomfortable chairs are lined in un-companionable positions, one in front of each shelf, stiff backed, sagging into itself with age, with an occasional doddery man nodding off in one of them. fusty musty smells and yellowing pages, greying magical dust wrapping its spell around you, so that you either run away from the tall brown stacks, or submit yourself to the dulled crackle of old words; and keep coming back for more.

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