between the books….. trapped between the books…. always being back here in the house of books, eventually….. one certain fact about the inevitable is that it’s always inevitable……. once again finding himself here our hero stares out from the sockets of his bloodshot eyes, dons his spectacles as has been his lot for a while now, “age-related” they call it, isn’t everything?….. peering into the shelves upon shelves filled with row upon row of spines, vertebrae of tilted titles, words of letters, a gneiss of nestled nemes and names…. our hero pondered if this last thought made sense… then left it to fend for itself……. the merest hint of what may lay underneath the clothes they wear inside and between their prudishly-concealed pulp compressed, secreting secrets in plain sight……… how to choose, which one to undress……. having finished one book, walked a storypath from beginning to the end and all points in between where now?….. plenty more fish in the sea, so they say…….. our hero stands poised on the gap we’re told to mind and has to choose… yet more inevitable…. vanilla–perfume wafts weaving molecules that hypnotise…… such volatile allure our hero’s hooked; line and sinker……. that sense of loss: the between-place..… it has to be right, as good if not better than the last…. but how would our hero know while each cover clothes its mysteries or rapture to only be unfolded page by page in chapter maybe verse… our hero is committed nonetheless, finger tracks and stops and picks, a choice to choose the book between two books between more books between the shelves between the walls no doubt to be back soon enough……..
© robert greig 2017