for sixes and sevens

i once went into this magnificent libarary to borrow books. i had been prior told that this library contained a wealth of literature and history books. imagine my delight and excitement when i heard that. i just had to go, i just had to see. humbly, i pushed the gold handled doors open, and immediately picked out the scent of old books, each with their own story to tell, each with their own familiarity. i was comforted, as if i had returned home, reached under my bed and pulled my blanket till it covered my whole body. no one could hurt me, no one could laugh at me. i was secure, i was safe, i was untouchable.
like a child in a candy store, i gazed wonderously upon the rows and rows of books, each dusty to its personality, inviting me gently to caress their gentle covers. the decor of the place was brilliant, nothing i had ever seen or expected from a library. Gold, bright shimmering gold covered most of the walls and the celings. the floor was of a dark rosewood, which creaked musically ever time i trodded gently on its path. i was so afraid of touching anything other than the books, for the fear of scratching or spoiling the masterpiece.
i was not disappointed at the array of literature and history books i found there.

as i left the library with a solitude and loneliness within me, i realised that the whole journey was not about the decor, or the gold, or even the books.

what mattered, was that i went.