FEEL

4. Vellichor

Vellichor ~ The strange wistfulness of used bookshops.

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

We know when we're not wanted.

It's like a sixth sense that we usually ignore in order to protect our feelings, but we know quite well that it's true.

There's places out there that call for you when you didn't ask for it, though. Perhaps it's the poignance from a former life that draws us to them. These places, they feel so familiar, like you've been there a thousand times even if you never had. It's like your spirit had settled there long before your body had entered.

Quinn's Bookshop Café lured me in just as I was taking a walk down the city. The time has to be around three PM, I'd left the apartment out of boredom and decided to explore what would be my home for a while.

It had an ancient nineties library vibe to it, the easy yet bustling of customers adding a kind of vibrancy that reeks of ardour. The air is stuffed with brewing caffeine and the woody scent of second-hand books.

For a moment upon entering, I did nothing but just stand there. I let the atmosphere sink into me, the scent stick onto my clothes. My camera hung around my neck, ready to capture anything that might catch my inspiration. I wander in, smiling at the barista as she gives me a polite glance. It's too bad I didn't bring any money, else I'd have ordered something.

I walk into the section of bookshelves behind the tables where people are seated. Some reading, some dining hushly. These are my type of people.

The shelves are particularly large to fit in the vast amount of books stacked in them. The fiction section coaxes me with its teasing glance, so I allow myself to get drawn in, putting my fingers along the titles of each hardcover. I do just that as I walk through the section, shelves on either side of me until I reach the end.

I halt.

Right at the other side of the Cafe, where yet another section for tables is situated, Mr Pierce is seated with a coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He has reading glasses on that hang low on his nose as his eyes follow the trail of words on the paper.

A hot combination of emotions blow inside of me. Excitement, curiosity, desperate inclination. I take two steps back, disappearing behind the shelves. For a moment, I just stand there and attempt to regain my composure. To slow my racing heart.

Then, my hands find my camera and my mind discovers an opportunity. It's wrong, I can feel it even before I do it, but the desire to just do it prevents me from following my moral compass. The sea of sins is indeed, tempting, an easy place to lose yourself.

Don't do it

Even as I tell myself this, my camera is in my hands and I'm positioning it towards him.

God, the sight is so exquisite. Him, reclined in his seat, so relaxed, like he's in his element. His right ankle rested to his left knee, exposing his dark boots that he matched with the navy trousers, dress shirt and wool sweater. A piece of his hair hangs over his eyes, not to bother him, just to add to his already salivating appeal. Just a few seconds after I hit record, he turns the page of the book, and I have to bite violently into my bottom lip so as not to scream. It's just so damn perfect.

I let the film linger for another moment and then finally, I have it. I've captured him. He's in there now, forever. I drop my camera to hang over my chest, turning to leave the Cafe now that I've got everything I wanted from this place and more.