La femme dans la bibliothèque

by raimperial

Why, the book that you hold with your feeble hands hides your nose and your lips from mine eyes. As you douse your worldly troubles and insecurities with timeless writings printed on yellowing, aging pieces of paper, I witness how those eyes veer from one page to another in a way almost quite menacing and mesmerizing at the same time; how they seem to persistently chase after words and phrases and sentences and paragraphs as if these are the only things in life that truly matter to you. As you rise up from what seems to be an awfully wrong attempt to slouch on a very unaccommodating chair, long strands of black hair vaguely glimmer like a deep ocean under the overcast sky, wrapping around the edges of a freckled face like a slightly illuminated veil of silk. You, possibly suppressed by the deafening silence and punctiliousness of this ancient repository, awkwardly – almost reluctantly – stretch your hands high up in the air, (before a long line of bookshelves that silently tower from a distance, before book enthusiasts in search for possibly hidden treasures while walking on the wooden floor with incredibly muffled feet), and heave a sigh of what came to me as a small fragment of a satisfaction.

Is something wrong? How can I help you? Tough paperwork? Good day! Hi, it may not be any of your concern but I was wondering if you would like me to introduce myself to you because I would really like to do so: my name is…

No! I think of the perfect sentence to spark a timely conversation, but the pressure of providing you the rightfully adequate and fitting first impression is currently leaving me on a verbal squander that could invite only a disheartening rejection. Should I write a speech? Get a coffee? Send a note via the librarian walking towards my direction? What the hell am I doing. Think! Think! What sentence… words, words…

I look at you again, amazed at your unconventionally tall nose; at your crimson lips that pout like a fresh bud in the morning light; at your face that could, in reference to a song, launch a thousand ships; and at your eyes, so weak and small, squinting against the now bright and clear midday sky. So amazed at the sight of them that I now suddenly have a feeling. A feeling that causes me to believe that the universe isn’t so big after all. That flowers can bloom in the driest of deserts, even in the darkest of winter evenings. That time, although irreversible, does make up for the mistakes of the past and unwaveringly presents us with new opportunities.

But I stand up, push my chair aside, and return my books to the library counter, and walk out the revolving doors, as if I had seen nothing. As if I had seen none.