You must visit me one day on the edge of the universe, where I once was stranded in the metro, lost in a Rubik’s cube, in a honeycombed abscess of a crimson dawn, restricted parking and poetry.
In summer, we can dip our nimble toes into the water warm and gyrate in the amber sand.
Or when the chill arrives, we can plow through the snow and find the place where words go to play or die. I would certainly detest being a chapter just sitting idly by on a dusty shelf, unattended, unhandled, unloved.
Outside this place where volumes of scripted words abide, you will find a pair of lions made from marble, carved of stone. Their names — Patience and Fortitude — protract their beauty to behold.
They bring one inspiration to either sit outside or dare to enter their literary, hallowed halls. Trust me, it is here that the magic of words reside and enthrall.