You walk through those big, towering, oak doors. You lovingly caress them as you pass, smiling as you push out and breathe in the scent of old books: the library. You gather yourself together and walk to the nearest aisle. You grin, feeling that familiar feel of spines to hands. At random, you select a book. A fiction book by the looks of it. You rifle the pages next to your ear like a robber might with money. Flicking to the beginning page, you start to read. The sentence floods your senses as you select a word and pick through it, mouthing it and enjoying the knowledge of knowing it. You stare at the letters and wonder how such shapes could be twisted and turned into an advanced language and still be understood. You place back the letter; return the sentence; turn the page; close the book; walk out of the aisle and step back through the doors of the library, wincing as you hear the doors bang. Then you take a deep breath, and let the world go on, oblivious to the wonder of the library.