Writing.

He ran a hand over the spines of the books on the shelves. Some were rough , rubbing against his fingers like grains of salt, others were smooth like the marble that he was standing on. He picked out one and held it out in front of him. It was a journal of sorts, cover bound in red felt. He flipped through it not really reading anything. It was filled with scribbly writing from front to back, not a single page left blank.
“You do know that reading someone’s journal counts as eavesdropping right?”He turned around to see a girl standing behind him, her head cocked to the right. She was wearing a large red hoodie with the words ‘Music is the answer’ written on it.“You wrote this?”“Along with a couple others.” She nodded and gestured to the other books on the shelf.“A couple?” He chuckled. From his idea there were at least twenty books on the shelf.“I write. A lot. And since I work here part-time, the head librarian lets me keep them here. Besides, not all of them are as filled as that one.” She jerked her head towards the book in his hand.
He slid the book back into its slot with a slight thud.“I’m Joe,” he said as he slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Lauren.” She slipped the hood off her head and gave him a small smile.He had to catch his breath at the sigh of her. He hadn’t seen her hair yet. It was spiky and short, just reaching her ears. But the most striking feature was the color. It was a deep dark red, darker than her hoodie, definitely dyed. He smiled back at her but she was already moving towards the desk in the center of the library. She hopped up on it while he leaned against one of the book cases.“So what do you like to write?”“Everything basically. Poetry, short stories, drabbles. Whatever I’m feeling, good or bad, it goes down on paper.”
“Can I read something?”“Haven’t you already?” She teased with a smile but she jumped down and pulled out a journal and handed it to him.He scrutinized her closely then looked down at the book in his hand. It was similar to the first one he’d seen but this one was covered in blue felt instead of red. He flipped it open to a random page and started reading. Her writing was neat but became scribbly in some places. He could tell that she was the kind of person who always had a lot to say and the words could not come faster for her.‘Lyrics aren't just words in a song. They are feelings, Feelings so strong that they stir something within you. Something you can relate to so closely it feels as if the song is written just for you. Through lyrics you hear the meaning behind the words.’He looked up at her remembering the words on her hoodie. She was leaning against the bookshelf next to him with her arms folded across her chest defensively. He studied her closely then went back to reading.‘The worst part of it all is the finality of it. The realization that whats lost is lost for eternity. And the reminder that we are all but travelers who will one day reach the end of this journey too.’ “I like it. It’s, uhh, very relatable.” He was unsure of what to say.But I have to ask, he added. “Why is all of it so sad?She tilted her head to her right like she had done earlier and scrutinized him. “A lot of people ask me that. And my answer is always because the most passion is found in feelings like anger and sadness. I can write about the sky and the sun and the birds chirping in the morning at the possibility that a new day holds. Sure, love does move you sometimes but it is the anguish that brings the truth out.”