I didn't need to, but the urge was too strong.
It was still bright outside; leaving the office with sunlight hitting my face felt foreign, nearly unreal. Iwas heading home.
Then I passed the bookstore near the train station. I hesitated towards the bookstore; my logical mind was processing through the mental pages of task lists to see if I needed to go to the bookstore. No need.
Somehow, I found my feet walking towards the bookstore; I was in. My irrational compulsion overcame authority over the rational cerebral mush. I was going to the bookstore not because I needed to, but because I wanted to. Though I didn't knw why I was drawn to the booksyore.
Perhaps it reminded me of the dusty quaint Leicester Square bookstores of London. Perhaps it was the urge to people-watch as they browse books; there is something different in their eyes as they stare down pages, as if staring into a different universe. Perhaps it was the irrational itch to buy a book though I know it was cheaper to buy online and that Ill likely not read the book till a year later. Perhaps it was the comforting feeling of walking along aisles lined with shelves of knowledge and bits of our world waiting to be discovered. Perhaps its the imagination that bookstores inspire in me. Perhaps.
Whatever the perhaps may be, I took a one-round stroll through the bookstore. Before I knew it, time to head home.
I swear I feel a little more warm and fuzzy inside each time I walk into a bookstore and linger in its aisles. And my brain ticks differently; it seems to forget linearity and explodes into possibilities. Miss that.
