Reading Between the Lines

*note: this came about during a  free write in creative writing.  i have no idea how i thought of it, but.. here it is.

Some guys are like open books.  Oh, you know.  The ones that want the whole world to know anything and everything about them. The ones that yell random things from rooftops and could care less who or what is listening.  Some guys, on the other hand, are like closed books, no words evident but the title and possibly a summary on the back or inside of the cover.  But some guys are like books that are shoved behind all of the other books.

In a sense, the kind of guys I'm speaking of are classics.  Like The Screw Tapes by C.S. Lewis or perhaps a collection of poems by Tennyson.  They're known by everyone, and yet, everyone doesn't notice all they have to offer.  Then one day, an unsuspecting reader stumbles upon one of these wonderful books.  She gently blows the dust off and carefully turns the pages. Once she starts reading, she just can't get enough of it.  She loves everything about it; the way the words flow in perfect rhythm as she reads them, the tattered pages and their creased corners to mark previous readers' places.  How the font is perfectly simple, how it smells of different colognes and perfumes and smoke from a pipe.  Each and every detail is perfect in each and every way to her. Though people point out its flaws, the imperfections only make her love the book more.

This book isn't an easy read, though.  It's inspiring yet nonsensical, serious yet humorous.  She loves the book, she just doesn't understand all of it.  So she begins to try and read between the lines.  The girl can't help but wonder if there's something more to discover amidst the sentences that captivate her so.  She observes and examines the off-white spaces, and realizes there's room for someone else to write.  But it's due at the library today.

So she enters the library and explains she'd like to renew the book.  Even buy the book.  But the librarian explains that it's on hold and that someone else is waiting to read it.  Reluctantly, she hands the lady her beloved books and heaves a sigh, desperately wishing the book was hers.  Just hers.

At school the next day, she sees another girl carrying her book, and she can't help but feel spiteful.  The other girl doesn't understand how precious the book is.  How the sound of turning its pages is magical and how the coffee stain on page 34 gives it character.  She doesn't notice how each imperfection adds to its perfectness.  She just treats it as any other book, nothing special.

The girl longs to save her book, but she knows it's not really hers for the taking.  It belongs to no one, not even her who studied and noted every individual characteristic.  The girl who tried to read between the lines and wants so badly to fill them in with inklings of her own heart.

Some girls are like open books, like some guys are like open books.  Some are closed books as well.  Some are classics shoved to the back of the shelf, well known, but people don't take time to notice the important details.

One day, a guy finds a book as he's searching the library shelves.  He picks it up and eagerly opens the cover.  He reads between the lines and sees there's room for his thoughts there.  That someone cared to leave enough space for him. And slowly, he begins to fill in the blank lines with words he's never gotten to say.

THE END.