Journey to The Library of Den

I woke up to her warm embrace, I had pushed aside my blankets in sleep, curled up because of the cold.. and her embrace was what kept me well.It was as hard as you would imagine to say goodbye through a note. it did the job for the time, but its brought me nothing but regret so far, if only I could hear her voice again.. What a curse it is, thoughtlessness.leaving my wife is the only memory I seem to want to recall, each time I want to find comfort in a memory of my past, I imagine what only her face could have looked like when she woke up that morning,My knees grow weak every time.I keep having dreams of being at my apartment again.. never thought I'd be this nostalgic over such a pigsty.Atleast that pigsty had onion rings in the fridge.

 I'ts hard to try to document something you do not understand, and I'ts even harder to only be able to do it with words you forgot the meaning of,Writing this feels like a desperate cat clawing at asmooth wall it can not climb.My words feel empty to me, and it pains me even further to think I only do it to keep myself company.I really do hope one day someone will get to know my story.

 -About three years ago, we were just out drinking. It was just the 3 of us there, me, my sworn brother and my wife.He was acting strange all night, I'll never forget how painful that smile was. the bastard thought I didn't know it would be the last time I would see him.He told us he would be taking a walk home and he won't be needing our ride, what a fool I was to think Angelo would ever care to walk more than a 'room to bathroom' distance.That night every fire station in the city was alarmed,I rushed there as soon as I heard.They never found a body, never put out a search team after him either, they just assumed he was burnt along with the fire and didn't care to look further into it, but I did.For five months I looked into his disappearance.every day I would sacrifice the future of the kids in this country just a little more to research further instead of teaching the class, the kids didn't seem to mind it either way.Thankfully bribing the class's top student with grades bought his silence for all the time I had classes with them. 

-It was just another morning before I was about to head to work that I decided to give Angelo's house a little visit again, just to see If anything would turn up.This time I tried to take out the rest of the tiles in his kitchen to see if there were any hidden messages left under, but in the end I came to nothing.I headed out to the basement to try and see if I could find anything laying around the junk that's been soaked dry by the little river that somehow found and dug its way through the leaves outside to the lower side of his basement.There was a moment of rest and calm while taking in the artificial dank rain smell of the garbage in there, and the moment was scattered by a sudden realization,It hit me like a speeding truck, but there was a cube like raised surface, about a little higher than a baby's toe on the floor of his basement. the fire's smoke print laid differently on it, like it was drawn on with a torch before the fire had even started.The place underneath it was a hotter than hellbunker, filled with notes and books.I didn't know why he would be keeping a bunker and furthermore, why he would be only studying something in it, but it was the only lead I had, so I investigated his notes.I went through all of it, ignoring tens of calls from the school principal, skipping work that day. some of the notes referenced some materials he kept note of in his attic, but I guess I will never know, just like he intended. 

-Every book he kept in that bunker came from the University of Florence library, so I decided to give them a little visit.The librarian said she recognized him perfectly from his picture, which was reassuring,She said the man only borrowed a few books from here but never brought them back in, but he visited almost daily to look at the same section of books,She guided me into a section filled with Persian poetry, novels, geography and history.I could tell how much he went through the books just to be sure he knows what he is doing just by how much worn they had gotten.A good clue to him being there was the careless coffee stains covering some pages of the books.A little bit of more looking and something on the study table caught my eyes, It was a bouquet of dead roses,Hanging from one of the flowers was a light blue woman's watch.  'how long have yooouu been here?!'.  There was a small piece of paper sticking up a little next to the small hand of the watch,So I opened it up from the back.It read 'R23,B12'.I was quick to catch on that it was a library section address, so I searched around till I found it.A worn out book called 'Dashte Lut'It was covered in Cheeto dust all over, hmph, typical.I had no option, I was dedicated to finding him, it was my brother after all.I was following him on a path, preparing myself for something I didn't even know, being in times more danger than what my brother took on, but I mastered (eeeh) the Persian language within two months with all the possible effort I could have put in! and that faithful morning.. I left Italy.