If I had a Delorean, and you know which one I mean,
I’d go straight back to 1994. Driving down Kölnerstr., I’d park behind the post to visit the old library.
I dream of pushing back the heavy old doors, turning left to the giant staircase.
I’d love to see those steps again, polished shiny by generations of feet.
If I’d climb those stairs they would take me to the first floor, the smell of old books and coldened coffee greeting me.
I’d turn right to check out the tapes first, looking for ones I haven’t checked out yet, or for old favourites.
But my true goal would lie to the far left, past all the other shelves, where the fantasy, fairytale and horror stories are kept, away from books about girls and ponies.
I’d love to read those stories for the first time, again.
My first ghost stories, the first vampire anthology I laid my hands on, the tales sending shivers down my spine, making me want to stop reading, but at the same time making stopping impossible.
If I had a Delorean I’d go back to that time, and once more fill my basket with more books than I could carry…