I am known to abscond with these ancient mistresses… my eyes dance across their soft parchment, threading the lovingly laid ink of their calligraphy. Held in the crook of my arm, entranced by their beautiful crumbling covers and long delicate spines. I’m simply played by the breath of Love itself to the notes of their words. This book is over 100 years old and I honor the modesty of her contents – I dare not open her, lest one of us disintegrate to dust.
