I found her walking through the library. Her arms were folded around a large book as she strolled up and down the stacks of dust and paper. She turned the corner and her skirt bounced giving a quick glimpse of the back of a knee. Her socks were folded down. I pulled a volume off the shelf and looked over empty words at her form. Dark hair hung softly onto light shoulders exposed by a loose sweater. She absently tugged the collar and removed another book. I followed her where she knelt to look at the cover of a removed spine. I could see her long lashes downcast as she reorganized a strand of hair behind her ear. The book I opened crackled with age. She looked up quickly. She did not see me over the books. She retreated, and I placed the letter into the pages before returning the tome to the shelf. A puff of dust and footsteps pounding the other way.