You’ll find me.

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Must death always find its way to us?

A paper full of memories, I don’t want to kill it. 

Find me.

Look for me in the depths of the unknown,

In the hidden secrets of the soul.

In broken pieces and forgotten places.

I’ll be her.

The one clad in silk, or maybe in nothing.

The one living solitary, beneath the snow.

Who’s lover, he; din’t even know!

Find me in the dates of of this mortal world,

in the breath of your sweetheart.

In the reflection of that broken glass,

I’ll be the one.

Crying in the closet of your majestic wooden house.

In the aging of  the tree,

in the ruins of the world.

In khadi and silk,

woven not produced.

Touched, felt and embraced by a thousand!

I’ll linger in the haunting scents of your once present

I’ll be the one banging on the doors of your memory 

The leaf in the snow.

Not beautiful, no never! Alone.

Take me in now,

So when you touch, do you feel a thousand others more?

You don’t possess me, you never can.

I’m wild and free.

I’m pen and paper.

I’m written and unwritten

Told and forgotten.

His memory shall remember,

when his past shall haunt.

Don’t hide too far,

This is home, I am home.

Yet, you’ll chase me and forget me

and once again; remember me.

Centuries would pass.

What’s my struggle is your victory,

my love now your hate.

my present and your past.

It’s not a different world,

it’s the same.

When you embrace me, 

when you cut that tree,

when you’ll write that letter,

you’ll know me,

oh! I promise.

You’ll find me!

 

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We’re all stories In The End.

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Am I your first page?

Am I reaching out to you?

Are you reading me? Will you turn the page?

Will you hold me close to you?

Will you cradle me in your lap?

Or

Will you leave me?

Read me like I’m not yours?

Will you ?

Will you leave the world to be with me?

Do the words inscribed on me,

Bring you closer to me?

Will you read me?

Will you gasp your breathe to turn to the next chapter?

Will you continue?

I’m reaching out to you.

My pages are torn,

Mistreated by the others,

I’m pale, yellow.

Some say,

That’s what attracts the ‘writers’

Are you one of those?

Will you pick me up?

From the library of all others,

Will my story be yours?

Will you treasure me?

I promise to be there,

Silently,

I promise to sit in your shelf,

Creep into your mind,

To turn back to me,

When you’re alone.

I’ll teach you, silently.

You love me, silently.

After all,

We’re all stories in the end.

Can I be your last page?