letters

I entered the book shop with music playing out loud in my headphones. I was craving to sense the smell of typographic ink. And I felt it. Vivid and intense. With a raspy touch, almost palpable. And I was thinking how would it be to lay down in the middle of the book shop and breath slowly the scent of ink and one thousand billion letters in various combinations. How many stories would then be crawling within my cells? None? Just a few? A lot more? Those books either colorful or simply white and small, like a pocket edition, were begging to be touched. So I trace my fingers gently on their tattooed shelf-backs... And then I remembered the story running to and fro in my mind for a while, the image of an old wooden bench on a seashore, and white piece of paper trembling in the wind... and the words all mute, but aloud. Lots of subtle scents wrapped up in the smell of ink. And I knew, all of a sudden all the words the wind swept away off the paper. I knew them well ,and I felt them as if they were mine. As I was breathing them away, I took off my earphones a bit and combed my hair with my fingers. I'm here without you, baby/ But you're still on my lonely mind. Are you kidding me?! I think about you, baby/ And I dream about you all the time... and tonight, I was her, like she was me. And we both smiled and mumbled the song, arts and parts in this strange story. Then I heard her soft voice whispering “I knew you heard me”. After a while I knew it wasn’t over.