take my hand

We are going up the stairs, the steps to the top of the largest and happiest place I have been. The sun is everywhere as light comes in at every angle through the clear windows that frame the blue sky and the rays make you brilliantly clear to my eyes. It smells like new books and some nice perfume I have never smelled. I know if I touch you it will be like a soft pile of cotton covering warm bones and some puff of air will come out with the most perfect scent.
The stairs spiral up and up.
There is another part that I would go to at night. It’s darker and mustier, and there are brown work cubicles that people sit at and leaf through books looking for things with a sense of purpose that feels more right than anything I know. We are always quiet here. I find you alone at a desk after emerging from the enclosed stairway that leads to the middle of the floor. You are sitting and looking for something. I would go up behind you and know if I smell your hair I would love the smell, I know if I touch you you would be soft.
The way out goes on forever; a ramp that goes both up and down. Stairs on one side go up a little then regress, never going down, always up, but sometimes less up than others. The exit is very very bright.
At the top of the stairs in the bright part of the library is a place to purchase snacks. Ice cream is five cents, hamburgers are ten. We don’t eat anything; we just look at the prices and feel full.