i is second

I am a student.

I walked into the library once, not sure what I was looking for, so I just wandered around. The stacks seem endless if you look at them right. Rows of information, of thought. Some of the spines were too cracked to read the title, I didn't really mind. It was still there.

I stopped looking at the books, running my fingers over the covers instead. Rough canvas mixed with the inviting touch of worn leather. The presence of knowledge, thousands of voices talking to themselves.

I got to a section of phd dissertations, started looking again. Some had been turned into books, but not these. Most them were collecting dust. Each person had spent years working on it, pouring all they had into a few hundred pages of them. Each was only occasionally checked out by another academic. But it wasn't about who was reading, rather who wrote.

I waited until everyone else had gone home for the night. I pushed the couches against the door, blocking the world out and giving me space to practice. I settled down with the first thesis and never left.