In a 'library' I sit.
Books,
Miles and miles of books
Each and everyone different
Different like you and I
different bodies and
different minds,
Some amazingly thick and some tragically thin,
As if they were only able to take a few breaths before leaving,
leaving that world behind
and starting a new one.
Maybe this time becoming
a star that I would have looked up to so fondly
Or perhaps
Disappear entirely; but not without a trace.
Some you may pick up and will not be able to put down,
Not until their last breath is drawn,
Maybe some may seem like nothing has happened at all- their chance wasted.
And as I read their final moments I may weep,
I weep because the contents of these golden pages
Are
Not simply
make belief,
The contents of these pages are
simply
of you,
Your every decision and
your every
mistake
What you love and what
you hate
Your every path you take recorded -
Written
down.
And as I sit there and read your life story and I will- every last one of them.
I must remind you to make it a story I will not forget
