The story of a madman
many volumes
all worn from hours
upon hours
of reading
reminiscing
worn from
my hands
that could never let
the story rest.
Your books pages
Not blank
Not unreadable
Just not finished
Just static
Forever frozen
10 years ago.
Like a
Series
That ended
prematurely
Because
The next volume
Never came
have you
Never found
An end
Within me
I picture
Your sequel
A happy one
Bright
With spots of rain
I picture
You
All grown.
Sometimes
Words
Books
memories
Sentences
Fail me.
Or do I
Fail Them?
Did
I
Fail
You?
