we fell in love in the back of the library
clammy hands on wooden chairs
dripping nervous words
onto endless white pages
a labyrinth of
words and stories
intertwined between
our fingers
your hands rubbed
ink onto mine
imprinting
each other in our minds
so you could still be here
when you stopped reading
***
i travel back again, after some time.
I travel back again, behind the months
and days of history
we wrote together
pushing dusty memories to
the back of shelves
as if history never happened
as long as i can’t see it
book sleeves fallen down to the floor
exposing their covers,
no judgement,
just truth.
my hands skim the worn-out stories
pencil markings fading beneath
the covers that keep
opening and
closing
if i were to take one off
the shelf
it would collapse
like tissue paper and water
in my palms
for i long to hold you,
but how long can someone hold a
memory
disintegrating into the dust?
