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Mysteries in the Stacks

As my sister and I wandered through Chapters, I decided to try and locate one of the Post Secret books. There, in the self-help section (not the first place which came to mind), were three copies. As I picked one up and thumbed through, I noticed a little piece of cardboard. It was a small, torn fragment and it was squished far in - only noticeable because of the difference in texture.


Carefully, I plucked it out and called my sister over. "Someone put their own secret in the book of secrets," I marveled as I turned it over to read words carefully written in purple ink. I'm scared to tell you that I love you in case you don't. I placed it back and kept looking. In between pages thirty-three and thirty-four was another. This time a scrap of lined note-book paper with the same purple ink and careful penmanship. I think I love you but you scare me.

"Not terribly interesting secrets," judged my sister and I had to agree.

Still, I had a picture in my mind. A girl sitting on a bench in the mall. She carefully writes out the secrets which occupy her days. The secrets themselves are small, but she's young. She'll have bigger, darker secrets in a few years; for now, there isn't anything else more important - or more worthy. She slips into the bookstore and walks the self help aisle until the coast is clear. She carefully slips the secrets into the book and puts it back on the shelf. She fantasizes that the object of her unnoticed affection will pick up the book. That the girl she secretly loves and fears will open the book and know who the secrets belong to.

I put the book back on the shelf. It wasn't for me.



Note: this is from an older journal entry that I wanted to repost in bookshop_love. It seemed rather bookish as well.

Comments

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
vertizart
Oct. 16th, 2008 07:14 am (UTC)
That's such a sweet conjecture of events. It's so nice to hear of something so tangible, what with emails and texts. It's like your physically touching her emotions with your own hands. It's intimate. It's like for a fleeting moment you're reading her and not the book. Looking into her heart, and for a moment you are able to breathe in her innocence and have a small touch of it back for yourself, because maybe one day you were in her shoes with her worries and fears and you're able to hold on to those days for just that small moment longer, when that was all that was important.
devi42
Oct. 16th, 2008 10:17 am (UTC)
you're able to hold on to those days for just that small moment longer

Actually, I think I'm rather glad I can't hold onto those days. In retrospect, all of that untamed emotion was so exhausting.
vertizart
Oct. 16th, 2008 11:09 am (UTC)
very true. Hindsight's a wonderful thing, heh.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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