What remains are the ones which are incomplete.
Absence of closure keeps them at the back of our mind
where we invent our own little skit
and keep rewriting them in the hope to find
something which will just fit.
Soon we forget the previous story
because a new one starts to take shape.
Congratulations on creating another incomplete story
where one day we shall come back for an escape.
On the seat right next to mine
there was an old & torn book.
Faded ink on it spoke of a time,
Long gone now. It seemed bespoke.
Out of habit to turn pages,
My eyes started running over the faded words.
A few pages later there was a bookmark
on which written were these words…
Once you read, place the marker into the next page
and write a few lines about yourself,
Become a part of the book of age.
Keep it back on the seat, this was never meant for a bookshelf.
Upon doing as instructed I figured, I was reader number 511.
The book once belonged to this traveller
Who wished to meet the World.
Alas! he could not for time ran out. He was a believer.
He was reader number 001
and now I was a part of his world.
