The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.

Book II


Took the book from the shelf

The title is one that I know well

Brush the collected dust from its face

See the imprint left in that void of space


Listen to the satisfying crack of its spine

Breathe in the scent of aged paper

Feel each indentation made by the entombed words

I think this one will do just fine


I know the ending to this one

This is no fairy tale but still,


my fingers dutifully flip. 


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