You sat beneath the golden library light
like a story waiting patiently to be read,
while I hid behind unfinished pages,
pretending words mattered more than your presence.
Every afternoon became a silent ritual—
your quiet footsteps, my stolen glances,
two strangers speaking only through lingering eyes
and the soft accident of brushing hands between shelves.
Then one day, your chair stayed empty.
The library remained the same, yet everything felt missing.
Now every book I open sounds like regret,
every turning page asking the same question:
was that my chance?
And if fate ever writes us into the same room again,
would you still let me sit beside you—
or have I already become a story left unfinished?
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 6:22 AM UTC
You sat beneath the golden library light
like a story waiting patiently to be read,
while I hid behind unfinished pages,
pretending words mattered more than your presence.
Every afternoon became a silent ritual—
your quiet footsteps, my stolen glances,
two strangers speaking only through lingering eyes
and the soft accident of brushing hands between shelves.
Then one day, your chair stayed empty.
The library remained the same, yet everything felt missing.
Now every book I open sounds like regret,
every turning page asking the same question:
was that my chance?
And if fate ever writes us into the same room again,
would you still let me sit beside you—
or have I already become a story left unfinished?
