I want to bury myself amongst the musty and motionless occupants of my wooden shelves. Dust them off and watch them come to life again, finally able to fulfill their calling of transporting me into another world and another’s consciousness. I will give each of them the attention they deserve, getting acquainted with them from their facade, their first few words to me, maybe what others have said about them, and the brief attempts on their backs to summarize and lure me into all that they are.
I will pick the one that gets me wondering the most and tuck it safely amongst all my essentials, so that I can feel its weight and sense its company as I head out yet again to yet another unknown place.
I will leaf through its pages as the plane bides its time, let it rest open on my chest as I fall asleep under the sun lulled by the sound of waves – and then curl up with it again as night begins to fall and I have retreated into my paid cocoon, the warm lighting promising yet another illuminating and illuminated night. Me in a strange place, getting transported into yet another strange place – by the sheer force of another person’s words and imagination.
I don’t know them, but I am trusting them to take me to unknown places from where I will be able to find my way back.