The library is filled with books,
The person I walk by.
We exchange nothing but looks,
Every morning just a simple hi.
Walking past the shelves,
Brushing through the dust.
I often find em on the other side,
"Reading that book is a must".
We talk about computers,
And we talk about grief,
We talk about how awareness
Hinders people's belief.
But something changed one morning,
The books spoke before us.
The shelves caved in to hear the must,
The grief shape shifted into belief.
The books knew them,
Better than the shelves,
Awareness is a foe,
It doesn't listen to who it alienates.
Walking past the shelves,
I looked through the mirror and saw.
That I'm the question and I'm the answer,
Feeding into the story the unseen advancer.
I walk past the aisle,
The stranger looking at me,
I traced the footprints,
I traced the eyes,
Only to find out that they were mine.