Something happened to me at the library. Not such an everyday thing.
A clear report of what happened at the library: The first book I took from the shelf was the right one.
You might think: “Okay. What a breaking news”, or you might have read my last post and know that I’m the girl that never picks the right book from the shelf, and that’s why your now thinking: “Chapeau chapeau!”.
Extraordinary it was. This book wasn’t a swindler. Not a library loser. Opening the book proved my thought, it was lend 29 times before. I trusted the people who had lend this book before me. They must have picked the pick for a good reason. Probably.
The book contained 846 pages of sketches of forgotten trees, endless forests, empty landscapes. It was sketched two centuries ago. Flipping through these, almost numb, pages made me feel like walking through a library. The feeling of being lost. The feeling of never finding the right book. The feeling of being a library loser. These 846 pages were a perfect resemblance of my library feelings. After thousands of failures, I found a book that fits me.