My Library

I have a place I go to. I believe everyone does. It's the secret place in my mind that only I have access to and those I allow to quietly wonder around in the back. My "happy place", the one I go to to find my calm, is a library. A large, beautiful library build in a quiet forest somewhere, where all the books contain memories, thoughts and feelings that once passed through me.

Sometimes I go there when I'm sad to wonder between the shelves, running my stringy fingers along all the dusty spines hoping to wake something in each one. I stroll between the sections never named but clearly arranged and segregated but all so very much connected, all part of the same library, sometimes even the same story.

Often I wish I could run around and swap all the memories sleeping on the shelves, put them in the right order, the right feelings at the right time, the right thought with the right person, the right moment on indefinite lone.

I wish I could read the ones with you in more often without having to have to figure out how I to feel about it, without allowing the hurt to consume me. I wish I could sit and stare at the pictures in them for longer without burning, like a little child to be part of them again.

The Happy ones are always there too, resting so colorful on each shelf. Knowing that they will always be read, always taken out on lone to whomever wants to share in the beautiful laughter and the joyous memories that they are. You are there too.

Sometimes I choose one at random and slide my back slowly down the wall as I settle in to read it. I allow them to take me places I forgot I knew. I let them carry me away and into a deep sleep.

I know when I wake up I will feel much better.