In the library where Jaggers throws looks like daggers at Dickens for the invasion of his privacy,
for mentioning legality, I see
another story coming on.
The Maltese Falcon flies to me in pages where a mystery unfolds.

Holding breath, the long slow death of a twenty-something,
comes sliding in, Harry Potter, Slytherin.

All in books and in the looks of characters imagined by the author, chapter by chapter and at the end the wish to meet the one who penned such a magic on the pages of my mind.