Dusty, but clean, like the smell of time. It reminds me of old trees or old tree forts. It smells like my grandpa's leather couch. It smells like money that had passed many hands. And you can only smell it in the first moment it is released from the truly ancient beings. You slowly pull its tattered self off of the wood stacks and dust flutters in a ray of sun light that just passed in through the window. You look at the spine and glance at the words, then slowly open the front cover and feel the spine wrinkle in your fingers as you slide it into one palm. Then you flip through the pages. They fan out in a monotype and whispers and cracks as if daring you to look. That is the moment the smell floats past and it fills you with a promise from another world.
The Mist FIlled Path
The road and the bridge began to become blurry. The clouds started to spiral into a mass of grey and bright white. It was as harsh to look at as it was to look away. I wanted a distraction, but this was beyond distracting. I was seeing paths in the forest I had never seen before. Some how everything was swirling away from me. The only thing left in my vision was a path. The ground was saturated as if the earth were volcanic. The trees draped down and then shot up to the heavens. I didn't see and end. Truth be told I didn't see where it began, or where I began. Then I was the one spinning around... I woke up on the path, so my 'just-a-dream' theory was shot to hell. So I started walking. And walking, then I start running. My mind was wandering too much. I was gonna cry again if I let myself think, so I ran. I have never missed someone so much. I saw a small pool ahead of me. It is always at the end of that path. The pool is filled with a placid black liquid. It looks ...
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