When I first heard someone talking about you, I thought they were exaggerating. I was certain you were a mistress belied with false compare. How could such a place exist? Eighteen miles of books? Ha! Tis not possible.
Our first meeting was like stepping into the sun. The smell of books–old books, new books, just books, books, books . . . I actually thought I might faint. It was as if my youthful fantasy of being Belle and having someone give me a library was that much closer to reality. It was heaven carved out for geeky girls who read by the glow of a nightlight.
We have exchanged much you and I. I have given, you have taken. You have given, I have paid way less than any chain would ask. You reunited me with limited prints, childhood favorites, and sometimes introduced me to strange new tales that I never would have known of. Although it has been years since I passed under your bright red awning, I still dream of you. I know you exist online, but ours is not an online romance.
Someday I shall return to you, backpack in hand, to explore your wonders once more.