141

The hail kept powdering down the street, as we heard the bouts of laughter from downstairs, yet the silence between us was unforeseeable.

"You read?", he asked tapping the books that lined my bedside table, towering high. A certain stack of books, were in this stack one that he couldn't see, that I didn't want him to see. He flips through the books as I race over, hoping he would get the memo and stop, but he passed by the books noticing them all, his face turned sour.

"These are my father's books", he staid squeamish at that fact, and I didn't know how to say the rest. His father was any interesting person, and his books were a work of art. His words flowed so intricately and passion-filled. That I couldn't help but admire, and read the rest of the books.

"I saw them, at the cabin", I stumbled on the words as he looked through them, at my simple annotations. A book that good, and that I had so many thoughts about needed to be written down, so the margins were filled