The library smells like old books-a thousand leather doorways into other worlds."

"Dear sir, I was called away and couldn't bring you, but now I feel haunted. I know that sometimes you felt I was a part of you and that losing me would leave a hole in your heart, but that's not true... Please forgive me... I am sorry that I didn't say goodbye.

Dear sir: twelve hours is as twelve years to me. I imagine you in your home, smiling, thinking of me. That I am your heart's secret fills me with song. I wish I could sing of you here in my cage. You are my heart's hidden poem. I reread you, memorize you, every moment we're apart.

About the library," he whispered. He took out the pencil stub from his pocket and poised it over the page.

"Will you write like Mr. Blake or like yourself?" I inquired.

He wrote and whispered the words aloud as he did. "I am in the library. It smells like old stuff."

"It smells familiar," I suggested. "It smells like words." Because his left side was to me, I couldn't easily take his hand to write.

"Books are boring," James said as he wrote.

"They line the walls like a thousand leather doorways to be opened into worlds unknown," I offered.

He thought about this and then wrote with a smile, "I hate books.

Obedience is bondage, if God wants to be adored he should make himself more loving.

Just a wee cot - the crickets chirr - love and the smiling face of her.

Years have passed by. Hello turns into a kiss and then into sex. It is not love, because all i ever needed was a hug. A cigarette I have lighted up, while I watched the night and the hours passed by. Who am I, who am I going to be? I have no idea, but I will wait and see. God I am messed up, but I quess it is the part of growing up.