That day

It is a familiar comfort that welcomes you. A cold floor, but inviting. You stumble around in the corners of your university library, sometimes having to turn lights on. Your fingers reach out to the multitude of books on display, and you blink. A touch here, a caress there and a sigh elsewhere.
You know you are alone. So alone. You walk further into the darkness, it takes you in without complain.
You pick a book, finally. Too burnt to walk to a table, you sprawl on the floor. Feet pointing to places unknown.
Fingers trace the name on the cover. Dante.
You read book one, Hell. Something about the words that make you feel melancholy. Supposed to happen, you guess. You go on and catch up with more of him.
Before you know it, the warmth and comfort of that library is not a part of the fabric that defines your life.
But somehow. The feeling comes back. Sighing for the unknown, just like back then. You hit the find button on your computer now. Ah, Dante. The pages are not yellow this time.
You are awake once more, you feel the emptiness once more, you feel the blackness pulling you closer. The words are there. Emotions rekindled. Night begins to fall. Just like it does for Dante and Virgil. Flights through dark and unknown forests.
“Through me the way into the suffering city, through me the way to the eternal pain, through me the way that runs among the lost…Abandon every hope, who enter here.”
Pages turn.
Loud thunder stirs Dante from his sleep. Dante finds himself in a new place, on the edge of an abyss the bottom of which he cannot see.
You tip toe quietly through many more pages. Move on to Purgatory, to Paradiso.
You touch the screen of your computer, almost reaching out to something. You know. The darkness never left.