Not a poem or amazing words, just a little bit of thinking I let escape my head.
My bookstore closed.
I feel like it shouldn't matter,
shouldn't hurt as much as it does.
I don't know why I feel personally rejected
all because no one wanted my bookstore.
December 31, 2012.
My heart dropped,
skipped a beat.
I don't feel safe in a lot of places,
especially when those places aren't home.
It was my safe haven.
No one looked at me strangely when I held a bundle of books in my arms,
no one stared when I would jump for a book I had been waiting months for.
The books outnumbered the people.
The heroes and heroines of the pages protected me.
I was safe within the shelves.
I wish they wouldn't have taken my safety, my place.
Books are such a huge part of my life, of me.
I feel like when society rejects my bookstore, they're rejecting me.
I rarely relate to others,
books were our common ground.
They're taking that away from me.
I need the printed word, the physical pages to keep me safe.
I'm scared of a world without books.
I'm scared of the world.
I want my bookstore back.