A Bibliophilic Inspiration

bibliophile

noun

bib· lio· phile | \ˈbi-blē-ə-ˌfī(-ə)l

I. Sun drips tickling half-lidded eyes

   Ink bleeds through the smokey pages

   Leather bound beating lungs

   Cloudy bones of books still whispering in my heart long after they've been closed

II. Inundated with words that pool up the pit of stomachs and fill up throats and paint the inside of my       

brain. When I look up, there’s a story in the ceiling and behind every mundane word is a breath of kaleidoscope thoughts pushing, pulling at the seams--once you are filled with them, each word demands it’s audience, each part of the story demands your attention to be written on an empty page

    An empty page waiting for insistent words.

III. Who ever cared about the ineffability of emotion? There is iron in our blood from the stars, we've walked the moon, and it's biologically impossible for a bumblebee to fly but it can.

Ineffability never met a writer. Ineffability never met a human.