I walk into the room,
Breathe.
Sniff the air-
Ash and dust and fire and ink and paper and-
Heaven.
Glide by the shelves,
Fingers rippling along spines.
Arms weighed down with tomes of every color,
Old and new and yellow and white.
All in another world.
Hands brush the crackling pages,
Crisp and wrinkled,
Soft and brittle.
Eyes graze the words,
Lapping up the inked, magical strokes.
Ears catch the bristling pages,
The soft fire, the quiet murmur.
And it all disappears.
All that is left is a whole new world.
Monsters, beasts, magic, wands.
Gods, powers, crime.
Stomach twists, heart thumps.
Eyes water, fingers tremble.
Gone.
Release.
Escape.
-Janani Thoguluva, 15