It was separated from the rest of the library by a short, half wall that I was just recently tall enough to see over. I walked past towering shelves of library books, struggling to keep my feet to an appropriate, indoor pace when all I wanted to do was run to the children’s area in the back. The smell of age–of dust and paper and the slightest hint of vanilla–surrounded me. My sanctuary.Įnclosed by four towering walls and separated from me by one hundred and three footsteps worth of creaking, uneven wooden floor covered in time-ravaged berber carpet. My heart sped up, adrenaline flooding my system as I stopped and surveyed my second home. I pushed through the large door, the curve of the metal handle four times as big as my palm and cool to the touch. I was six years old and knew exactly what I wanted. *Adapted from my MFA artist’s statement and first posted here on my personal writing blog
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