An Ode To The Night Circus

I opened its pages and began a new life,
The feel of the book on my lap,
The paper, thick between my fingers,
The inked words dancing on the page.
The image of it formed in my mind;
The black and white circus,
The tents, the grass, the iron gates
The sign that greeted eager patrons.
With them I entered a world
Unlike any other I had previously visited.
When I closed the book,
The smell of apple cider
And caramel apples
Hung in the air.
I could see the reflection of its tents
In the wind.
I longed for the moment
I could open its pages once more
And rejoin the circus again.
For days, I ran away with the circus.
When I finished it,
I felt empty.
The world within these pages holds
A life of its own, a dear friend
I wanted to visit again and again.
To see its endless tents, the brazier burning
At the center of it all.
The tick of the clock
That stood at its gates.
I fell in love with the idea,
Became a rêveur, desperate for one more night
Within its gates.
The mere sight of the book
Made me smile, thinking of the secrets
It hid deep inside.
I still dream about it,
Looming in the distance,
Its paths, characters and gates open to me,
Should I want to come visit again.