You are a forgotten chapter
in a book, I left unread
and as I try to walk past you,
I feel your glare on the back of my head.
There you are, haunted in the bookshelf,
among the many faces,
yours shine the brightest.
Not because you’re beautiful.
Not because you’re enchanting.
But because you remind me of my failures.
You taunt me for my shortcomings.
You hold me accountable for your loneliness.
I try to assure myself- I will come back to it
I promise, I won’t forget you,
how can I? When my eyes wander
across the room and in your direction.
So I close the door, lock it twice.
Believing that it would save me the guilt.
Some books are meant to be left unread.
They’re predictable, the end is known.
So I go about my life.
Sliding my fingers across the pages
of others, but ever so often
a word, a thought, a memory
haunts me, and no matter
how tightly I hold onto the knob
there I am unlocking it.
Walking in once again,
only to see you looking back at me
begging me to read you once more.
To try and finish where I left off.
And so I do, and I remember
all over again, I am reminded
why I left you in the first place.