Foto De Libros Novels & Stories

I said as I continued to stare at the inside of the library. Termites have infected some shelves and books. The light from outside is seeping through the old, hazy windows that appear to have been taken by the ages. There are a few ruined wooden tables and chairs. The walls are covered in a dreamlike wallpaper design that, despite its age, is attractive to the eyes. A few black and white vintage photographs in frames hang on the empty walls. The photographs show many people, some of whom were reading books inside and outside the library, and some were conversing with each other.

“I would leave now, if you need me, you can always reach out.” “Thank you,” I said happily. She nodded and quietly left the room. I walked slowly between the shelves. The books looked old. Some of them looked very old. The smell of old paper filled the air. “Wow,” I whispered again. I ran my fingers along the books. “History… mythology… politics…” Then something caught my eye, a large photo album sat on a lower shelf. I picked it up and sat down on a chair. When I opened it, the first photo made me pause, a man stood in a black suit.

I chuckled as I pictured his father's look on his face. “Were the fuck are you” I thought as I opened from one of the boxes to another, all having worn out papers or jewelries or another photo collection, I groaned in frustration and placed them back the way they were. Maybe Damian didn't keep his documents here, he had other houses and this was just one of them. My attention was drawn aback by his collection of books, I thought of checking on them before leaving the day we both had a rift. They were old art, modern art books, almost all art authors were in this Library and I marveled over the realization. Damian was very specific I concluded in my mind as I looked over and over and over aga

Caraline positioned herself comfortably on the sofa. The three books Caraline was holding were nothing but diaries, while the other was an album of memories from school. Rather than reading the diary, the woman was more interested in the collection of photos. There was a faint smile when Caraline opened the first page. Caraline was lost in the collection of portraits that the album displayed. She laughed occasionally at photos she found amusing. When she came across a picture of a girl with long hair, her laughter suddenly subsided. Her fingers gently stroked the image. There was a twinkle of longing in her eyes.

In the corner of the room there is a large fireplace and several individual sofas that have high backs. This place looks elegant and classic at the same time. I raised my hand to trace the titles of the books lined up on the bookshelf while reading slowly, from encyclopedias and science books to books with titles I couldn't read because they were written using the Russian alphabet. Alpha Sam didn't follow behind me while explaining how many books were in this library. I nodded slightly in response politely. I took a deep breath to smell the old books and papers in this room, this is my most favorite smell besides the smell of pine.

I found it on a Wednesday afternoon. I had been working my way along the lower shelves of the library, the ones I hadn't reached yet, pulling books out and reading the inscriptions and putting them back. It had become a habit without my meaning it to, learning the woman who had lived in this room through the things she had left behind. The photograph was tucked inside a book of Italian poetry, slipped between the pages like a bookmark someone had forgotten to retrieve. Small and slightly faded at the edges the way photographs got when they had been handled many times over many years.

“This woman… she looks like me. She’s an exact copy.” Lucien froze. For a brief second, his calm cracked. He took the photo from my hand slowly. His eyes scanned it. His jaw tightened. “Where did you find this?” he asked. “In the library,” I replied. “Inside a book.” He looked up sharply. “Which book?” “I don’t know,” I said quickly. “It was some book about financial records.” I did not want to tell him about the shelf. About how hard it was to remove the book. Something told me to keep that part to myself.

Some old collections rich people used to show off to their fellow rich people There was a large desk in the corner with an antique-looking lamp on top, the bulb seemed to be lit but not on, there were strange-looking books, some with leather covers, others paper, some old, some brand new with pages that fell open and wrinkled under my fingers. There were even some books with gold writing on the cover but none of them looked like they were readable, I picked up the nearest one, it was titled in Latin. Opening the book carefully, the first page was blank except for two black lines that started from the middle of it, it looked like someone had drawn something underneath them. They weren't words

I can’t tell where they are, but judging by their clothes, this photo looks like it was taken either at a Great Gatsby-themed party or this photo is really that old. There’s a library off the living room, and I spend a minute looking at the types of books Lucas likes to read. One is sitting out on his desk with the page he was on dog-eared. If sucking the blood out of the living doesn’t make him a monster, this certainly does.

I feel my whole body relax like it only does when she's close. "You don't need to be embarrassed about reading dirty books. I've been doing it for years." she says and my head pops up and I stare at her to determine how serious she is. But I don't sense even hint of joking. How interesting. "Really? What kind of books do you like?" I ask and watch with fascination as an adorable blush creeps up her face. "Um... mostly small town romance. Single dad, friends to lovers, next door neighbors, things like that." she says a little shyly making me chuckle.