Libraries

There is something about libraries that always draws me in, comfortably welcoming me into the imaginative worlds of stories where the characters are bright, eccentric and follow their hearts and dreams. Stories of where time has no significance or meaning, whether it be past, present, future, or far far into the future where planets have been found, destroyed and cannibalistic dystopian futures exist. I could do all of this, cozily from the couch I am sitting on as long as I am enveloped by the silence of a library that drowns me in books and writers I've never heard of before. Lost in the collective knowledge, memory and histories of my craft ancestors that I so desperately strive to be like, painstakingly labor to become a better writer and share in their glory.

So imagine my happiness when I was able to access the library in between my rare work shift breaks. I say rare, because they mostly stick me with the all day shifts, which means I get to be on my feet from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. At that point in time, library closes. But to be frank, I wouldn't be able to go even if it did stay later due to my excessive physical exhaustion.

On the days that I can get an hour or two break, away from my sexist co workers, the overwhelming scent of food, my black clothes and being on my feet, the library has become my sanctuary, my hospice, solace and a pair of warm arms to softly embrace me, heal me and coddle me to an imaginary future where I did not have to do any physical, manual labor.