misplaced plots.
my bookshelf has never been so crowded yet so empty all at once.
You have become a dog-eared book amongst tens of others.
Pages I will stumble upon some day, and struggle to place the plot.
To find the pencil marks fading,
and the highlighter bleeding.
To find tattered corners,
and battered spines.
Etched titles chipping away to nothing.
A dust covered story I can hardly remember,
with dog-eared pages I can never unfold.
