Vacant spaces between you and me
crumpled afterglow thoughts
blue hearts, clinking rhythms and
the smell of ink hovering
in this frozen corner.

The books stare me down
making me nothing in comparison to them
unaccomplished, inexperienced
(and wasted potential to top it off, I suppose)

Reading from the newspaper
I study how you say the words
like as if they were gold bars
and you were a thief,
stealing to be put in your rucksack.

I want to pretend
that we're in a story
and any minute now,
some drama is bound to occur
like scenes you read in books.

But nothing happens.
The seconds of the clock tick on
In squandering silence.

And flashes of your smile
linger in my head
even hours after you're gone.

I'm stuck here
in this place
if pages and weaved stories
and victories and tragedies
and emotions and hardbound secrets

It holds me in its lullaby
perfectly.