I saunter past the rows and rows of romance, science-fiction, fantasy, action and humour. I pass Old John, the oldest member of the library.
His face resembles the most primogenital poetry books in the crumbliest nook of the library. Creased, worn and full of secrets-like there’s so much to know about them, and all you have to do is simply open them up and search inside. They may look dull and humdrum on the outside, but when you have opened them up, and had a good look around, you realise that there was so much more than when you first set eyes onto them.
“Hi John!” I wave, and smile.
He needs a little love in his life. Like me, the library is his second home, here you are made welcome and given warmth and care. The books are almost like long lost cousins.
“H-h-hello…Heidi! You ok Love?” he stutters, turning slowly, creaking, so that he can just get a glance of me and wave. I feel my smile broadening as I pass by. A glow seeps through me, and I have to scratch myself from it prickling all over me too many times. It’s the same sort of feeling when you are over praised, or complimented for something you really tried hard with, and made a great achievement in. If only everyone in the world were like the library clan…
