Night Cap

I want to tip toe across oak tongue and groove flooring, my flame in hand, dripping white wax like lava against the wrought iron candelabra. Sneaking like a child along the corridor to a room with fifteen foot ceilings, and there amongst the shelves, run my fingers across dusty spines, acting like I know what I'm looking for.  
In a library filled with longing, I want to read words that dare to tell the truth.  
The truth found in experience and heartbreak, where mourning is turned into joy, true love endures, and there is a Heaven after all.