You are a mystery. A riddle without an answer.
A tounge twister I can't wrap my sense around.
I would never find the answers in between your lines.

If you were a library I could never read everybook.
Not even if I could live forever.
Not even if your library would let me in.

And yet, on the cold ground I wait. My body caves in on itself, shrinking under the shadow casts by your walls.

Your fortress. Your empire. Your kingdom.

You are everything that I love and yet I am exiled.

Your name would hang above the doors in gold, glittering like the ice crystals freezing my shattered heart together.

But here I wait. And here I'd still wait.
Even after I'd gone blind, or forgotten how to read.
Because if your library ever let me in, there is no sweeter smell than old books.