There it lay forgotten,
in the shelf gathering dust -
A chapter that had once been opened,
and halfway through shut.

Maybe some day,
in the future near or far
Another may wipe the cover
and with love pick it up

They might turn the pages,
might even read to the end
So don't expect your bookmark
to stay on the same page.

And if stories are what our lives are
To live is to dance to the narrator’s tune

Some stories go hand in hand
Some stories go thither in pursuit of another

Sometimes we narrate our chapters
Sometimes our chapters narrate themselves

In stories we seek reason
In reason we seek conclusion

But if the narrator’s narration does not make sense
The actors cope thru a different lens

Our story isn't a poem,
nor a novel to be written.
We can not rewrite the chapters,
we can not rewrite our story.
Only if I could,
I'd write a happy ending.

Understand and know me
not just by reading
the summary and the prologue.
Read all the chapters
until the last period
where I bared my heart.