The Beinecke

I am afraid to walk with my eyes wide open. It seems like a voice in my mind telling me that my body would shrink with each step that I take, so I look down at my shoes, walking faster and faster. I can feel the light saturated with warm color pouring down on my skin from the ceiling, and there’s nothing I can do to stop myself from wondering exactly how high that ceiling is from here. 

I see a couch, and I can finally stop. Just like the couch that I am crawling on, which looks so little compared to the glass box that’s right in front of me, I feel incredibly small but powerful at the same time. 

I can finally breathe, with every second that I look around. Therefore, I tilt my head and look up. I see countless little dots as if they are peering down on us. Inescapable, I am not even going to try.   

With the freezing air-conditioning, my face is numb but my eyes remain curious. I cannot prevent myself from worshiping how peaceful and astonishing this place makes me feel. This atmosphere is overwhelming. My hands are even shaking when I try to touch the air. 

Everything is square and hard. The bookshelves, the cabinets, the marble windows, even the books. They are like families that seem to be made for one and another. Being among them gives me a thrill that I am interrupting their union. Quiet, everywhere, flows through my vein and gives me nothing but solitude. But it is not bad, listening to nothing but the breaths of books, and I think I am finally clean again.