“I don’t care any more about the handsome wealthy boys who come gingerly into the living room to take out the girl they thought would look nice in an evening cocktail dress… I said I wanted to go out with them to meet new people. I ask you, what logic is there in that? Why go places with guys you can’t talk to? You’ll never meet a soul that way —- not the sort you want to meet. Better stay in your garret reading than go from one party to another. Face it, kid: unless you can be yourself, you won’t stay with anyone for long. You’ve got to be able to talk. That’s tough. But spend your nights learning, so you’ll have something to say. Something the “attractive intelligent man” will want to listen to.”—
To the girl at the table near the back of the library -
I almost asked you what was wrong the first time I saw you crying. Then I saw the book you were reading, and realized that you were crying because of it. And I was interested, because I’d never read anything that moved me that much.
I checked out the book you were reading, and guess what? I cried - just a little - too. That’s how it started. Every time I go to the library, you’re almost always there, usually with a completely new book. Sometimes you smile, or laugh out loud, or cry again, and when you do, I check out the book you’re reading.
That was it, really, until I realized how gorgeous you are. You’re not pretty in the normal kind of way, but god, when you smile, it lights up your face in the best way.
I wish you’d notice me, sitting a few tables away from you, reading the book you were reading a few days ago. I wish you’d smile at me. I don’t have the guts to talk to you. I’m afraid you won’t be anything at all like I imagine.
One of these days, I’ll work up the courage and I’ll ask you about what you’re reading. And maybe you’ll smile that gorgeous smile and tell me all about it, and then we’ll talk about all the books we’ve read. But until then, thank you for the book recommendations. I love them.