in this library, these words wait to be read. to me, they are silent until my eyes observe them. they all speak at the same time, surrounding me. but they are completely still. waiting to be read at any moment, they always welcome me. why so ready? depends on the intention of the writers, right? or are they for me to interpret however i choose to? somehow, i feel comforted to be surrounded in stories. i do not know what those writings are about, or if they were written poorly. it does not matter to me. a story is a story, is another home to me.













