Today I discovered that libraries are vacuums.
No don't look at me strangely, it happens to be true. The outside world is busy with bustling people, the noise, the movement, the rush.
When you walk into the library, it's like you enter another world. It's cool in summer, warm in winter; you enter to be greeted by sweet silence, not the utter stillness of a tomb, but the soft wirr of air conditiong, the sound of pages being turned. Footsteps are muffled by soft carpet, the sound of voices has been leached from the very air.
No clock tolls out the seconds, no voices telling you there's someplace you should be.
It is a vacuum from sound and time and reality.
You can sit and lose yourself in an endless number of worlds without feeling the passing of time.
One could grow old in a library and never notice, instead you can hide in the books and their pages, hide in the shadows of day, and forget.
One could go mad and never notice.
