in a city of books
I live in a city full of libraries.
I mean, every city is probably full of libraries.
But there is something about Oxford. This city, still so knew to me, where every street I walk down is lined with windows into rooms full of bookshelves laden with books. In colleges, above shops, in student flats and family homes and the million pound mansions we all wish we could afford.
Books give me more comfort than most things. Walking through a bookshop, spending hours exploring the words on the spines gives me joy. It doesn’t matter whether the books are brand new, with that new paper smell or if I’m surrounded by second hand, pre-loved gems; thumbed by someone who explored that world before.
It brings calm, and peace to me. Books shops were one of the only places I went when signed off from work and trying to re-build my mind. Bookshops and libraries are the places I find myself drawn to when the world feels like it is too much for me.
This city of libraries comforts me whenever I walk down streets and glimpse the lines of books shining out from the windows. I want to sneak in and see the private collections, soak in the knowledge that someone took the time to write down.
One day, I’ll build a room with floor to ceiling shelves, dark paint on the ceiling and wooden floors with large armchairs and Tiffany lamps in the corners. A room full of the books that made me, grew me and open my eyes to worlds beyond my own.
In the words of Kathleen Kelly from You’ve Got Mail “When you read a book as a child it becomes part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your life does.”
I live in a city full of libraries.
R/
