It Was Such A Pleasure To Sink

Nighttime Is Different. Things Are Otherwise When The World Is Black. Insecurities And Hurts, Anxieties And Fears Grow Teeth At Night. P493

It Was The Sibling Thing, I Suppose. I Was Fascinated By The Intricate Tangle Of Love And Duty And Resentment That Tied Them Together. The Glances They Exchanged; The Complicated Balance Of Power Established Over Decades; The Games I Would Never Play With Rules I Would Never Fully Understand. And Perhaps That Was Key: They Were Such A Natural Group That They Made Me Feel Remarkably Singular By Comparison. To Watch Them Together Was To Know Strongly, Painfully, All That I'd Been Missing.

It's A Funny Thing, Character, The Way It Brands People As They Age, Rising From Within To Leave Its Scar.

I Sound Contemptuous, But I Am Not. I Am Interested--intrigued Even--by The Way Time Erases Real Lives, Leaving Only Vague Imprints. Blood And Spirit Fade Away So That Only Names And Dates Remain.

After All, It's The Librarian's Sworn Purpose To Bring Books Together With Their One True Reader.