Down the grounds at the crossing of Mt. Vernon Place and Charles Street, I find myself entranced by your presence. I ascend your marble steps swept in the autumn morning mist. I enter the library and I am born once again. Born to a new moment that will never die, but live on in these halls. I walk with a stillness that would fluster the specters of these halls. I look up as if to pray. The thousands of books and millions of words with the billions of letters remain still in your hallowed chamber. It would be futile to look at a single one, yet I return once more and wonder.
To be alone in you is a pleasure received once in a lifetime. Your cast iron columns ascend from the ground to the heavens. Marble rises with iron, worked together as two lovers who died in each other’s arms long ago. You remind me of a story I once knew or a love I once had, and a song that maybe never existed. The setting of genius that has come or will come. The light from above conquers the chamber. Hexed by stillness, ensnared by beauty.
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