The Spines of Stories

My hand graced the spines of stories,

Leather bound and lovely.

This is where I felt you,

In the sounds of old beaten roads and rusty winds.

This is where I found you.

I feel a million words on my fingertips,


Everything and nothing.

This room has crossed many mountains,

And now I trample on, stumbling over my very bones.

Crunch. Crunch. Climb. Climb.

The music plays like a dandelion in the wind,

Traveling on some grand adventure.

I, settling on some old rocks of the ocean that laughs at night

Remember your words stinging the air that

I couldn't help but breathe.

How far away all that feels, the magic we once knew.

But it is no magic at all,

Just hope that maybe we would make it.

That maybe one day, years from now we would find ourselves

On old bookshelves that taste like home.

In stories we dared to speak,

The tales of the diseased; our hearts.

We jumped, we loved and we watched our stories unfold.

As a child discovers the world, our hearts became

More and more alive realizing that we had what it took.

That all these words were full of fire,

Ready to set the world ablaze in a storm nobody could contain.

That maybe I was the wind,

I was the spark and

My triumph wasn't all that far.

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