She was in love With old books. She was in love with The way they smelled As she flipped the pages And felt the air hit her face. She was in love with The rough texture Of the paper worn over time. She was in love with The yellowed tint of the pages And the crumple of water spots. She was in love with The broken and tattered Binding that crinkled When you touched it. But most of all, She was in love with The stories that not only The words written in them held But the stories behind each Coffee stain and torn corner. The idea that this book Had connected with So many other people Enchanted her, And she wondered if Maybe she wasn't as Strange and odd As people told her. And she thought that just Maybe she wasn't as Alone as she felt.