An old bookstore, where the dusty ones settle. Where the geniuses poured their hearts out onto a canvas of ink and paper that used to inspire my mind. Now in a world where everything is digital, I sometimes still yearn for the touch and smell of a good old book. I walk in, the door chimes and the smell of that gritty aroma of a familiar home calls my name. Its quiet, as I have been mulling “guitarman” over and over again in my mind. The schizoid. Man, what the hell was I thinking.
Obsession and lust let me wander into this place. I remember turning on the computer and wandering into an adult chat room and seeing his name: “BehindClosedDoors” and wondering what kind of debauchery and naughtiness I can get into with this person. I shake that from my mind as I walk among the literary works of Tolstoy, Dickens, Poe and Palaniuk. These are my favorites in the bookstore of my mind. I see him standing there. “BehindClosedDoors” Oh familiar face, I remember you. I sent you a message but you logged out before I could hit send. And here we are face to face again. Oh what to do, what to do.
This man, this young man. So much younger than me. He makes me think. The way he writes challenges my very essence, and enlightens and broadens my mind to heights of ecstasy and imagination. Never have I sparred with an animal like this. This gladiator up against the soldiers of my mind. This crazy deviated mind of mine. Sick and twisted thoughts entangled in an endgame of cat and mouse with this intimate stranger.
As i walk through the bookstore, the old chapters of my life come into focus. You have always liked older men my dear, what are you doing ensnaring a cub you cougar? When I speak to this literary genius I am forever on my toes, having to think quickly making mistakes sometimes in my writing when I know I can do better. I am so excited that my need for perfection comes out in muddled words sometimes not making sense. I need to do better and not let my excitement get a hold of me. I must match wits with this literary. I must prove to him, I am the woman for him.
“Wishful Thinking” that’s what I am called. My alias. It fits me to a tee. Always looking on the brighter side of life when all I have known is destitution, anguish and pain. The men that have trampled over my heart and pulled at the chords of the delicate strings will plague my mind no longer as I close the chapters to these books.
The bookstore is closed now. Time to create a new world in the digital age with my new lover. Let all inhibitions of past obsessions be rid of me completely as I embark on this new adventure. Ride with me now. That’s it here we go. Take a leap of faith and leave all those dusty books behind. The literary is here, to challenge and excite me. I have been waiting for you. Lets do this. Lets get lost in lust and intrigue, mystery and sex of words; making love on the page of the books of my new life. Dance, dance with me now. As the keys strikes the keyboard the ink no longer hits the page. I am running with the young now. As I leap and dance, I am leaving behind that old dusty familiar smell I love with such a passion. In with the new out with the old. Not out with the old in with the new. Two things that say the same thing but have two different meanings for me in my head. Its time for a new book and bookstore all together. But first we must start with a chapter. And I have begun to write it..
Thank you Literary. You have shown me the way.