The outside world had a storm coming
Literally, while the opposite was true
In the world inside the library.

I explored every nook and corner of the ground floor -
From extricating the fattest titles of the dreariest sections
To picking out the slimmest of the most intriguing ones.

I cozied myself in a corner,
Books strewn like flowers at my feet
And a singular lamp flickering beside me.

I skimmed through no less than ten books
And when my interest was exhausted,
I climbed the narrow staircase to the next floor.

My cheeks were kissed by
Webs spun with delicate gossamer
That spread themselves unencumbered.

The windows were draped in a shawl of grime,
The floors sported a cape of soot,
While dust danced into my breathing.

I sneezed and no one exclaimed:
"Gesundheit!", though I'd like to imagine
That one of the spiders did.

Nose shielded by arm,
I appraised the environment:
Dusty shelves, grubby cupboards and chipped stools.

A place where spiders, rats
And other vermin could flourish;
Just like me.

No! I mustn't let thoughts of my inadequacy
Besmirch my already friable conscious;
So, I anxiously looked around me for a sign.

A sign, a sign of purity
Of stability in this sullied environment
Anything to thaw, if not break, my insecurity.

A crackle of thunder shook
The stained glass panes
And my very bones.

Alas! I had overstayed my welcome;
She hadn't forgot to remind me that, of course,
And so, I'd have to mosey back home.

Home; the residential space I had christened as my dwelling -
Naming someone, or rather, something, was serious business,
For then you had given it a mission - to live up to its name.

Clearly, it had failed; for here I was,
Seeking comfort and protection elsewhere -
Comfort for my bruised soul and protection from my tormented mind.

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maits³⁰⁸.

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