I am in Love with a Librarian

holybranches (60)in #love • 7 years ago (edited)

No not the Librarian. The one who confuses you as one. She knows the books and the books know her. The shelves, crevices and walls stand still, mute and marvel. They watch her with pride. This is our daughter in whom we are well pleased.

I am in trouble: I just sat in a spot that got me her wide shot. The magic is everywhere. Brilliant face in shine and content, daring and gentle all at once. Those eyes didn’t even need the spectacles to reflect her burning intelligence.

Rest in peace Engineering Mathematics. Today will be a useless day, for you, for me. Let Professor Markson do his worst. I must worship at the presence of this monument. Is “F” the threat? Let it come! I can re-sit. But revisit this moment, this symphony, this beauty, this perfection? You know the answer.

The perks are too much. Quiet peace and fixed concentration. Did I just stroll out for a charming comeback? An inviting, advertising stroll in? This is beyond the natural. I carry on despite the whisperings of shame. Up, down, around, I walk myself to death yet the gaze which I hoped for, longed for, prayed for, went, instead, deeper into the book between her hands with a mind lost and buried in brown pages.

I have winked and whined, relaxed and toppled yet the pages keep defeating me. Should I turn into one?

I want her, I need her, if anything as a friend. Hell she be capable of healing a large chunk of my crazy. With her I will grow, will know, will love. I will lay to rest the episodes of the mad man who talks to himself, to comma, to death.

Closing time should come quick. A move must be made. Even if she doesn’t engage, hearing her voice will be enough. That sexy soft melody the thoughts of a sound mind is bound to convey. I want a little of it.

When the bell eventually came, I waited not for it to subside into silence before taking a vantage point at the entrance facing the cupboards and shoving my Engineering Mathematics into my back pack with an invented zeal of a serious student.

Stepping into the tiled terrain, she saunters towards her back pack. The threshold stands before us. Then one idiot doubled the obstacle.

Beckoning and badgering, they end up exchanging pleasantries and diving into other topics. Who is this guy? How the hell does he walk up from nowhere and gut my move?

They are in the same department. Jeez. Will he let her go now? How about she displacing him with an excuse.

She doesn’t. Niceness lives I guess. Will it be so bad for me to murder this bastard?

The fake librarian shoos me from my static murder plotting state: “if you are not ready to go home step out let me go home myself, you can stay by the security post and watch over the library.

In deflecting the insult, seconds of awareness gets lost. By the time I recollect myself, only the yanking of keys on padlocks greets me.

Between skipping hearts and shaking limbs, I make a turn for one last miracle. She was gone.

Miss Fakey whistles past and throws me one last disgusting gaze reserved for the creepy and pathetic.

Why am I still standing here? Everyone is gone. The One is gone. As if the evening breeze brought its own form of enlightenment and hope, I chuckle and inhale. The library, her soul, was still here, behind me, watching and gazing. Pitying or laughing. Maybe the grumpy lady was right. Maybe not. But from now on Liby, we share a secret: I will be back.