I love the library.

I have spent my last two days, almost in their entirety, at the local library. I love the silence of mind, I love the company of so many brilliant minds, and most of all I love the whispered scheming and hushed dreams that bounce off every shelf and every hardback. I overheard two probably high-school aged boys planning their great escape to some tropical destination (most likely Los Angeles or New York or Miami or Chicago or at least I hope so for their sake). Then I remembered my initial achings for the coast. What took me there, how I got there, and I envied their youth. I was jealous of their naivete, and for the first time in my life I felt old.