Monday, February 3, 2014

Saved between the Pages

I am not one of you, even though I am sitting in this empty chair. I am not homeless or damaged by drugs or alcohol with all my earthly possessions stacked under my table.

I see you sitting across me in this safe house filled with books. Your head is resting on your arms leaning on a dirty table, when was the last time you slept?

I see you sitting across from me holding a heavy paperback, looking, looking at the same page for the last half an hour. You have not turned a page. What do you see?

I see some others, pulling their briefcases and increasing the pace of their steps as they go by. They head straight to the elevators, don't look left or right towards the New & Notables section. Are they staff who work upstairs or have they made themselves so comfortable here that they look like they belong?

It's hard to tell sometimes, who is who and what your business is in this house of words.

The young girls behind the Second Cup counter have ignored the "F" bomb several times while I've been sitting here. They are accustomed to the irate and the irrational, they still smile when I approach for my second cup of coffee while I wait for my next presentation.

I am a writer and I too am looking for a safe place.

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