Yesterday,
she suddenly spilled the ink
and marked our book
with that single dot.
I wanted to erase it
but the paper ended up
getting scratched.
Then drops of water
one by one
swallowed by the paper.
I hope it was a slash,
a semi colon
'cause it still brings hope
that a continuation
will take place.
But it is a dot.
A period.
An end.
Yesterday,
I cried all night.
Until now,
as I gaze at
the white box
she's now lying.
YOU ARE READING
Constellation
PoetryHere lies the speck of words orbiting in my own galaxy that was once lost but finally found its own constellation.
