It was all real and blazing with detail. But I was shadow, light as mist, mute as the wallpaper.
As I look around the quiet room, I see a thousand leather covers like doorways into worlds unknown.
A sea of dreams trapped in a span of pressed pages
I studied a crescent moon hung crooked in a plum purple sky and thought about what it would be like to truly be seen.
About the library," he whispered. He took out the pencil stub from his pocket and poised it over the page."Will you write like Mr. Blake or like yourself?" I inquired.He wrote and whispered the words aloud as he did. "I am in the library. It smells like old stuff.""It smells familiar," I suggested. "It smells like words." Because his left side was to me, I couldn't easily take his hand to write."Books are boring," James said as he wrote."They line the walls like a thousand leather doorways to be opened into worlds unknown," I offered.He thought about this and then wrote with a smile, "I hate books.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. Like a desert wanderer afraid of mirages, I gazed at my oasis, but he was real.
Perhaps I couldn’t tickle the inside of his ear, but I could reach the mysterious curves of his mind.
Feel free to write to us if you have any questions. But before you do so, please take a look on our page with Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) and even our sitemap to get a full overview of the content on our site.