A Book on the Shelf

I’m sitting in a book store. The people are drinking coffee discussing anything and everything. The walls have lithographs of classics long she’d. their authors are dead. I’ve read some of the stories they hide. Eyes eyes drift down, but now so far as to glace at my phone. Almost as if by magnetism, they land on the shelves. How many authors have published and failed? How long did it take them for their books to make it onto the shelves here? Was it their first book or the tenth?
One day, I’m going to share the shelves with them. One day my stores, no matter how mental or kooky they are, will be published.
I long to be an author.

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