Fading Echoes

Tomorrow Mourning

There's a story I want to revisit, but I can't.

All the main characters are gone. They have moved to other books.

Now and then, I see the name of that novel, and I feel like reaching out to it in the bookshelf that's inside.

A mistake I won't make again.

The last time I skimmed through its pages, every twisted word opened old wounds.

That story is forever lost.

What I thought was nostalgia, it's, in fact, mourning.

You see, the blank spaces, the red ink, and the torn pages killed it.

I would love to read it once more, but that's impossible.

And what's worse, I wanted to read what came next.

I too mourn for the pages that will remain unwritten, for the tomorrows that never were.