Will I ever find you again?
They met among books.
IndentIt was in a library. But no ordinary library. It was a library bustling with activity, thriving with knowledge and pulsating with joy. A library in which everyone was welcome and in which you were allowed to be who you wanted to be, instead, perhaps, of who you are. A library which he had been visiting, frequently, for years. And then she walked in.
IndentIt wasn't love at first sight. Her presence went by unnoticed, and so did his. They went here and there, talked to him and her, did this and that. And then they met.
IndentThey talked. And talked. And talked. About lives, about pasts and futures, but mostly about dreams, which, eventually, revolved around eachother. Dreams of crooked houses, of hidden lakes, of being together and of unbridled passion.
IndentBut the dreams proved to be just that: dreams. And their lives, their real lives, as they are want to do, interrupted. Their lives interrupted their dreams to the point that they had to part ways. She left to live her life, and he left to live his. They lost touch.
IndentThe library still remains, the same but different. New people moving in and out, filling the place with wisdom and laughter, sometimes simultaneously. But their love, their short but passionate fling, has become less than a memory between the walls of this extraordinary library. The only place where their love still thrives is in his mind, and perhaps hers, too.
IndentAnd all he thinks is, will I ever find her again?
IndentIt was in a library. But no ordinary library. It was a library bustling with activity, thriving with knowledge and pulsating with joy. A library in which everyone was welcome and in which you were allowed to be who you wanted to be, instead, perhaps, of who you are. A library which he had been visiting, frequently, for years. And then she walked in.
IndentIt wasn't love at first sight. Her presence went by unnoticed, and so did his. They went here and there, talked to him and her, did this and that. And then they met.
IndentThey talked. And talked. And talked. About lives, about pasts and futures, but mostly about dreams, which, eventually, revolved around eachother. Dreams of crooked houses, of hidden lakes, of being together and of unbridled passion.
IndentBut the dreams proved to be just that: dreams. And their lives, their real lives, as they are want to do, interrupted. Their lives interrupted their dreams to the point that they had to part ways. She left to live her life, and he left to live his. They lost touch.
IndentThe library still remains, the same but different. New people moving in and out, filling the place with wisdom and laughter, sometimes simultaneously. But their love, their short but passionate fling, has become less than a memory between the walls of this extraordinary library. The only place where their love still thrives is in his mind, and perhaps hers, too.
IndentAnd all he thinks is, will I ever find her again?