"So, Julie," Will began, breaking the silence as we reached the dimply lit section of ancient literature, British specifically, my favorite, "I assume you study English Literature by your paper" I nodded silently. "What exactly got you to chose English Literature ?"
I paused, considering his question thoughtfully. "Well, I found comfort in reading at a young age. It was what was keeping me going, a refuge from the broken world surrounding me. And I picked up one book, then another, until I piked up Jane Austen. Her literary depiction of the world and characters caught my attention and I was intrigued. I wanted to know more. I soon found myself delving into literature of every genre and era." I found Will seriously intrigued by my words, my opinion. "Female authors have always struggled more to leave their mark."
Will nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I get what you mean. It's incredible how these women managed to defy societal expectations and leave behind such powerful literary legacies." I hadn't experienced it before, but I actually felt like this boy understood me. We were deep into the quiet of the night. The dark corners of the library bringing peace in a little corner; what was turning out to be our corner. We just sat in silence and I felt at piece with him by my side.
As I reached for an old tome on the shelf, my fingers brushed against a collection of poems by Emily Dickinson. I flipped through the pages until one particular verse caught my eye:
"We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies."
The words seemed to echo on the quiet library. This unexpected turn of events that had led me to this moment with Will in the library. Despite the challenges and uncertainties I faced, I realized that perhaps this encounter was an opportunity for growth, a chance to rise to the occasion and embrace the unknown.
Sharing this poem with Will, we reflected on its meaning together, finding solace and inspiration in Dickinson's timeless words. In that quiet moment, surrounded by books and shadows, I felt a sense of clarity and purpose wash over me, as if the path ahead was illuminated by the wisdom of those who had come before us.
"I don't know," I confessed to Will, feeling a newfound openness between us. "I've always had this feeling that I had a story in me, wanting to get it out, but never quite finding the right way to express it. Since I first started reading, I've wanted to bring the worlds inside my head to life with words."
To my surprise, Will nodded in understanding, his eyes reflecting a genuine empathy. "I know what you mean. Sometimes it feels like the stories inside us are bursting out, but finding the right words can be a struggle or even trying to make emotions have sense."
His words resonated with me deeply, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of validation knowing that someone else understood the creative turmoil I often experienced.
"What kind of story would you tell if words or emotions weren't an impediment?" Will asked, breaking the silence.
I paused, contemplating Will's question.
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Night At The Library (Lost Souls #1)
العاطفيةJulie's been pulling all-nighters in the library, buried in her books. Then, one day, she nods off and wakes up to find herself face-to-face with a guy straight out of her romance novels-tall, athletic, with piercing blue eyes that practically jump...
