I sit here wondering, soft fingertips falling
accidentally on the flat black keyboard
how do I feel at this moment?
faded tie-dye shirt, colored with the
whimsical pinks and purples of previous springs.
the sunlight repaints the chipped white door
and books lean toward me in parallel rows,
pressing on the sturdy smooth shelves,
falling and rising together, like humanity,
but I am sitting beside
the coverless novel resting alone,
dull yellow pages scribbled upon by previous generations,
the title barely large enough to read
but abounding with beautifully woven words
that I speak softly and bring to life, invisible black letters
jumping up into my wavy hair
to weave themselves into intricate patterns of thoughts,
me, wondering what my own story will be.