Trying to find the perfect words
Finding the title currently unnamed
To a story that continues to go unwritten
Even the fiction of it becomes so unreal
That it’s reality rings harsher than even the truth
There are no perfect words to bring it back now
What we choose to forget are closed pages we chose not to read
Unnamed beauty from the side
They face our backs to us so we only we see their spines
There their names are, so we face them to the back of the shelves
And admire empty pages
Categories: poetry
The Sad Owl
I'm just here. Until I'm not.
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