Perennial Lovers

Elizabeth's POV:
My antique shop is small but packed. I've invested more time and money into this place than I would care to tell but it's worth it, for me it's home. My favorite area of the boutique is the loft. That's where I keep all of my dearest things, I hide them away so only those willing to dig through the clutter can get to them. They're the most valuable items, and their stories possess the greatest meanings. If someone is willing to find them, I know they care enough to protect them. Everything in the loft is purchasable except one item. It's a book, a journal more likely. When the worn leather is in my hands, I feel secure. Somehow I fit into the story. When I first found the book, it was hidden in the library under stacks of autobiographies. Placed between "The Biography of Hillary Clinton" and "Anne Frank", there it sat. Its' binding slowly fell apart, as the only thing holding it together was a yellowy-white glue string. I heard it calling me, begging me to take it, to pick it up, to read it, to become a part of the story itself. I don't know who it belongs to, but at the same time, I know deep down that I do.