When my world fell apart I went to the bookstore.
I went to the bookstore because there I am a stranger.
The aisles are just hallways and each person is just a traveler.
I went to the bookstore because the pages on the shelves
hold more stories than I ever will so within those pieces of paper
They must know greater heartbreak than what I am feeling
and there is a comfort in that
knowing that in this bookstore as I pass each title
I am not alone.
When my world crashed around me
I didn’t buy anything at the bookstore.
I wasn’t there to exchange paper for paper –
I ran my fingers down the spines of each bound cover I could never have
and I thought of your face.
What a beautiful thing you are – they are –
so far gone from me yet within finger tip distance.
I could flip through your pages but I will never get the chance
to read your novel.