The Repository

Characters come to life. Sentenced to live among the leaves of the spine. They cannot escape the paragraphs, forever trapped within the covers.

Strangled, estranged, livid, lucid, they prance and pose, enter, and exit the prose. 

Books are beautiful.

Books explode and implode with meaning, interpretations, permutations, endless speculation.

They say mankind, civilization really began with writing. Perhaps, it will find its untimely demise through words.

The future. A word that holds the promise that there is hope for us all. I look forward to a future where all humans are equal. But just like words, no two men or women are identical, and each combine, working together, to tell a story.

This is why I love libraries.

Thousands of individuals, dead and alive, all under the same roof. For every sentence that surfaced, hundreds remained trapped, confined, cast away by self-imposed exile into the confines of the imagination. For every immortal, millions will remained obscured, forgotten, left to long for an audience that will never know their beauty and ugliness.

Will I be loved? loathed?

Will I ever feel alive?