Amidst the crooked spines
and the tattered pages
and the smell of
aging paper,
I found my place
in this world.
Left with marks-
like fingerprints and
coffee stains-
once touched,
never the same.
After giving pleasure
abandoned, discarded
they’ve seen it all before,
sometimes more
than once.
I’d like to think
that the next
person to touch me
will keep me
this time.
Airah Writes 