Dear Library Girl

Every day at exactly 4:15pm the bell chimes to let people know that someone has either entered or left. I do not need to look up to know that the person entering is you. However, I always look up. You look beautiful as usual. Today you're wearing a washed out pair of light blue skinny jeans, a lavender colored t-shirt and your glasses are practically falling down your nose. Your cheeks, which are encompassed by loose black curls cascading down your shoulders, are flushed pink which tells me that you've been running to get here.

I silently watch as you put your badge colored bag behind the counter and reach for the pile of books labelled "returns'. I see the way your slender fingers gently put down each book as if it is your moms prized antique porcelain about to break with one wrong move.

You push the book cart down the aisles with an effortless grace but I see the way your cheeks turn a shade pinker with every push as the cart is making squeaking sounds, allowing heads to turn and stare.

Your attempts to reach the top shelf to correct a book are futile but whenever your flailing hand tries to grab it I do catch a glimpse of a slither of smooth skin from under your shirt. It's the color of my favorite hazelnut cappuccino sold from the coffee shop down the road. With one last exasperated sigh escaping from your lips, you finally make your way back to the counter.

Its been an hour since you first arrived and the sun is slowly starting to set. The light rays that pass through the windows, illuminate the dust particles floating gently in the air. You don't notice this as youre staring straight ahead at the blank wall, your eyes are dull and there is a slight crease between your eyebrows. The sad expression masking your face makes me want to jump out my my seat and make you smile. Alas, I do not. I stay cemented in my seat and yearn to reach out to you. To find out your likes, your dislikes, your deepest darkest secrets.

A young boy soon bounds up to the counter with a picture book clutched in his right hand. Your eyes light up and a smile takes over your face. A laugh that escapes from your throat resounds through the room and it is as welcoming as the first droplets of rain after a month long drought.

As the sun starts to fade and leave, so do the people occupying seats. Your brown eyes wander around the room taking in each person for a few seconds.

Those eyes of yours always seem to skip over me but that might be because I sit behind a dusty, old stack of books. Whenever I wait for your arrival I read through them, they're interesting but not as interesting as you.

Dear library girl, I am completely and utterly intrigued by you. I sit behind these books in the hopes that you'll notice me with those brown eyes of yours. One day I will step out from behind this wall, gather my courage and ask you out for coffee. For now though, all I've got is this pen in my hand, this paper on my lap and our 4:15 meetings. And for now, that is enough.

-The boy behind the books.