Thoughts read aloud: Poems

Comfort

For so long, all I ever knew was companionless comfort. Comfort was that little corner in the library. The small, but big enough space between the wall and the little book shelf. It was the feeling that I got when I stepped in, between the stacks, and breathed the scent of the aged, inked pages. Comfort was knowing that I could go there to be surrounded by no one. Just me and the people in the words and printed sheets. Comfort was quiet— and the quiet was simple, but it can sometimes be lonely.

Until that one day, when I found a cure for the quiet comfort in the weird packaging of uncombed hair, awkward puns, and tangled earphones that only worked on one side. He followed me into my comfortable spot and just stayed. I let him do as he wished because, well—
he didn't do anything. He just stayed. He liked the comfort too.

It became a normal part of my day. Everyday we sat there together in the comfortable silence. With each passing day the small space between the shelves became bigger. My comfort became ours, and we became us. He filled the silence with lame jokes and creative ideas. Created new worlds with his imagination and let me hop along on his train of thought. We rode it to new lands, fought villainous creatures, and explored the entire galaxy... all in the comfort of our little corner, between the wall and the little book shelf. It was no longer just me and the inked words. His stories didn't require any paper or print. The stories left the paper, and the people left the words. They were his. They became ours.

I have always loved the lives that the inked pages in my comfortable corner have created for me, but my favorite will always be the ones that I got to hear when my comfort wasn't so companionless anymore.