A little girl in her little town’s library, moving through the stacks, touching the covers.
She likes how they smell, the stories on the shelves.
The gloomy corridors, the dust in the air, the fine textures under her fingers.
She likes it all.
It feels like the world has gone silent. The voices turned to letters, and people turned to words.
Lives turned to stories.
Countless titles staring at her, expecting her to do something about it.
“Don’t let us dwell in silence”, she hears them murmur. “Take us for a spin.”
But, how can she know which one to choose? There are too many unanswered questions.
What do they say? Who are they for? Will she understand?
Will they be sad? Will they be funny?
Will there be love? Will there be hate? Will there be hope?
How shall she know?
“Books are like life.” Somebody says. “Live them to know them.”
“Poetic and wise”, the little girl would think if she knew the words.
For now, she just likes how ’’Live them to know them” sounds.
Once, she will understand what it means, too.
“I will pick one,” she decides. “Let’s see what happens.”
And everything happened.
The sadness. The fun. Love. And hate.
It said it all, and it said nothing.
It was for her, and it was for the world.
She cried and laughed. She loved and hated. She hoped.
Sometimes she understood. Sometimes she felt lost.
She learned letters can be charming.
And words can be irresistible.
Sentences can be playful.
Stories can be divine.
Life can be poetic.
She has lived it, and she’s come to know it.
The little girl in her little town’s library, moving through the stacks, touching the covers.
It was the story that changed her life.
The first one.