We never used a single mark
Just folded corners in the dark
Your pages fell between my own
Now both lie still, unread, alone
You’d laugh at where I liked to pause
Always mid-line, never cause
Books left open on the bed
Still whisper things we never said
Your chapter curled at paragraph three
Like you weren’t done explaining me
I found a note you barely wrote
Stuck halfway in a song you quote
No title, date, or even end
Just a scribble: “I’d try again”
I hold the spine, but it won’t bend
Some stories never learn to mend
Books left open on the bed
Still whisper things we never said
Your chapter curled at paragraph three
Like you weren’t done explaining me
I never shelve the way you do
But maybe this one still holds you
Books left open, pages wide
As if you'd come and read inside
And maybe if I read it slow
I’ll catch the part you meant to show
