I haven’t touched the harrowed
pages of this book
Since you stopped feeling the words and
Stories and letters that make up mine,
Since you put me down and closed me
Without a second glance,
(It was easy)
Since your long, elongated fingers stopped
Caressing my worn-down spine.
And yet, what was I afraid of
In getting left behind?
Not of fights, nor imperfection, or infidelity,
No, the fear stemmed from fear
Of our story simply slipping away
In the vast dunes of time.
My open pages seemed to bathe in
Newfound light, they glowed bright-white
And pure by the love of the Moon.
How sad to see your soft rays replaced
With an eternal bookmark,
And an impenetrable promise that said,
“Let us take a rain check, soon,”
As if you would come back in the rain.
I wished for a god damn monsoon.
Oh, the most painful of pains.
To realize you never saw the allusions or
Allegories hidden in the margins,
Hidden in plain sight.
To finally know the significance of an
Hourglass, of time’s slow fight,
To know that change comes everyday
In the hands of a sunrise, and now,
I no longer need the Moon’s light.
To accept that even though I now
Feel more closed, unfinished, and
Forgotten than ever,
In the grand scheme of forever,
We were never even the tiniest grain of sand.
Rose Joseph ’16