The book opened. I’d almost finished it.
Hollow — hopeless were his eyes,
as if awaiting to die, or be killed.
I read through the pages,
blotches of water blurring certain words.
It was ironic — she always seemed so happy.
Impossible to believe she wrote this.
I wiped the beads from my eyes
and reached the final chapters.
A signature marked the end,
the corner of the page dark with blood.
The name of the author was someone I knew.
At least, I thought I did.
The book was closed. It seemed ordinary.
It told no stories,
and yet it told every story.
Maybe not ones that were fictional,
but the ones that meant enough.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 4:49 PM UTC
The book opened. I’d almost finished it.
Hollow — hopeless were his eyes,
as if awaiting to die, or be killed.
I read through the pages,
blotches of water blurring certain words.
It was ironic — she always seemed so happy.
Impossible to believe she wrote this.
I wiped the beads from my eyes
and reached the final chapters.
A signature marked the end,
the corner of the page dark with blood.
The name of the author was someone I knew.
At least, I thought I did.
The book was closed. It seemed ordinary.
It told no stories,
and yet it told every story.
Maybe not ones that were fictional,
but the ones that meant enough.
Merry Christmas everyone! :) And a happy new year too
