So many words, left
unsaid, all we had
were broken phrases. Constantly misplacing
pages of our lives. Every day a new
chapter was written, new characters joined
us in our plot for
happiness. Emotions embellished
with personification, foreshadowing left
me unaware, our book had
been started, the middle never
fully filled, your ending
was written. The writer left
uncertain details undone. Words here
typed on a page, salt soaked pages
that would not flatten. More and more
our book came unbound. Papers
disintegrating in my
hands, our book was so
fragile, like a first
edition novel, so much dialogue
left unwritten, the writer
no longer picked up the pen.