A grand hall presents its finest sequel, Diffuses it in the ambiance. Each dent, each cleft, each mark of nostalgia, expressed through exhales and wrinkled smiles. My father's library: a sepia haze like Alice, a memory, not a dream. How I long to perceive your faded pages, to delve in your wood pulp, breathe it in. An intangible ghost, it does not see me yet it wavers above me, teases and taunts like a sisterly love or an agitated mother, like a childhood song, thick and warm. But with melted maps and fragmented fictions comes a cold truth - released by inebriation. A man lost at sea, his hard ships engulf him So he drowns the pages. Nowhere to be seen.
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