Bound Nostalgia

 

 

On the cobbled Roman street
my path would purposefully divert
to stroll under the cover of the old book stand.
For the old tattered pieces of literature
offered me not the usual pleasure that books give,
for I am unable to read Italian.
However,
my path diverted so that
I could breathe in the incredible aroma of nostalgia
that these old books held.
There smell whispering a secret of their history that is bound between the covers,
begging to be told.
I'd watch the beautiful souls that rummaged the stand.
One by one
unwrapping the history with the opening of a book.