I look at these books around me
on my bookshelves-
perfectly arranged,
each genre in a different corner of my mind.
I read the names on their spines.
So many I have read
and so many I have yet to read.
So many books
awaiting the touch of my hands
on their pages,
awaiting the crack in their brittle bones
and their soft spines.
So many words await to be read
as they have been written to be-
written for my eyes to indulge in
for my eyes to see.
These words;
written to entertain
and to capture
and expand one’s mind,
they have come to invite me to
another world
another life,
one that I have not chosen and never
would choose yet one that I get to live
and I experience
more than I ever would have imagined possible.
So many books on these shelves
longing to live their purpose;
to propose
that my world may not be the only one.
...................................................
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