Standing @ a book shelf in a book store that I always admired from afar but never grace (often) with my finicky-bookstore-entering presence, I felt a pang of emotion I had yet to experience from flipping through a book whilst in a sea of book worms. #aretherewormsinthesea?
I had passed more people than I had anticipated, sort of ashamed of myself for even considering that people in bookstores had died out like a bad fad--just think about Pokémon go. #butilovepokemon
I stopped several times trying to get into a title but they all seemed the same--not getting my attention. It didn't help that I was "just looking around". I read one book about crap, yes, excretion. Fine, not actual bowel movements, but how to get crap out of your life. It was on clearance--that's all I'll say.
I meandered some more, wanting to drop mountains of unowned change on a book with Van Gogh's paintings and portraits. In any book shelf, there should be at least one painter's book, in my opinion.
I found my way to the section with an enormus selection of books of counties in Vrginia. There was a book that showed picture of the history and people who lived in Charlottesville, Va ,(the town I found myself in at this given moment), back in the early 1900's. I saw radiant African American men and women, some smiling, and some attempting to do so. I saw group pictures of farmers and families. They seemed so real, brought to life from words on a page to actual beings. History. But history hurt my heart.
The differences in society that I could feel from looking in the eyes of those photographed made the hair on my forarm stand up and goosebumps adorn my olive-tinted forearms. I could never imagine a world of division...but the past had a strange juxtaposition of injustice and moments where smiling was appropriate...Life is an interesting paradox.
I flipped ahead to a few more pages, observing people who may have been standing in my exact spot years and years ago.
I put the book down, and walked away.
