My mind visited today,
imagining walking over
that soft red felt, as my
eyes gazed along those
familiar patterned windows
and circular mahogany desk.
Reaching out to trail my hands
lovingly over every inch of you,
gently caressing your thousands
of spines whilst gazing in wonder
like a child would a long lost
We were once so intimate after
spending thousands of hours
curled up together as I carefully
cradled you upon my lap and
tucked my feet up underneath me.
Innocence enveloped me once more
as I felt serenity course throughout
my body; as I took a nostalgic trip
down memory lane.
Once, I wondered along your dusty
aisles in purity and awe and here
I stand again, as millions of childhood
memories come to life once more.
Pascal, Stine, Blyton, Dahl....
oh, how I wish for the days when
I sat in that dusty old red chair near
the corner window, immersed in their
fabulous worlds and lost in a dreamy
childlike haze of a wonderful new story.
I am sorry that I never read this before today. Your poem breathes a wistfulness that is palpable. The way you describe the 'thousands of hours' spent in the chair that has become almost a family member; much like a favourite 'stuffed animal'. Despite the signs of wear and tear the feel of the fabric still takes you back to those wonderful memories. Times when the chair seemd so much larger than today - now its kept as a keepsake and heirloom to be lovingly past down to a daughter perhaps. Maybe she will learn her mothers love of literature and fabric?
Congratulations on this nostalgic write - a dedication to more than a piece of old furniture, a dedication to an integral part of your history.