Have you ever noticed how all libraries kind of smell the same? The smell of paper and dust and of drying ink. The smell of adventures and inspiration and whimsy. Then there are the sounds. The sounds of pages turning, typing, muffled music and children giggling. The sounds of people who are lost in a good book, and of students straining to finish assignments. And of course, the sight. Libraries are surprisingly colorful. It’s because stories are surprisingly colorful. I have always loved going to libraries my entire life. The first library I went to was the only I went to for most of my life, until I moved away for college. There was this very distinct smell, sound and look to that libaray that I loved. It was my happy place. It was my safe house. I hated leaving that library but what I have learned is that libraries are actually, pretty universal. Every time I found a new one, it all came back to me. The nostalgia hits me like a ton of bricks and suddenly I’m ten years old again, practically speed walking into the front doors and asking mom how many books I’m allow to check out. Some times, I wish I could be 10 again. I wish I could be at that stage in my life where my biggest problems and worries revolved around not being able to check out all of the books I wanted. I love getting older and I love being an adult and yet I find myself missing being just a kid. But that is the wonderful thing about libraries for me. For a second, I get to be little again. For a moment I feel so carefree, only thinking about books. I of course will move again and I will have to leave whatever current library I am at eventually. But in a small way, I also don’t. Because libraries will always be there. They will always be my safe place. And they will always, always, always make me feel that same happy, every time I enter their doors.




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