I recently found myself in the library on campus. It's not a place I frequent--my major doesn't favor spending time among the books and shelves, despite the peace that I feel when I catch the scent of a tome that has more decades than my parents under its belt. Since that initial visit 3 days ago, I've come back 3 more times, just to sit at a table and work on the modular arithmetic slowly stealing my soul and the paper I really wish I could devote time to.
Being surrounded by the books and the quiet reminds me of who I used to be, back when all I did was bury my face in a novel, a poem or a story of any sort--when I wasn't trying to emulate those authors with works of my own, with mixed results.
The world may be slowly moving towards digital means of representing all of the information in the books around me, and perhaps there isn't anything I can do to stop that.
But I hope I never forget the smell of those old pages, or the weight of the author's words in my hands.
Very poetic and deep boyo; but I understand completely "I hope I never forget the smell of those old pages, or the weight of the author's words in my hands." <3
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