Hour, glass

I’m the open book in which you lost interest

Abandoned before resolution, and

Shelved to gather dust

You had all the time in the world

To figure out what was written

Patiently waiting for your discovery (and mine)

 

Sometimes a drastic falling action dictates

A different direction, though

And I understand that

But oh, how I wish to feel your fingers

On the pages again

 

I will sit quietly on the shelf

Until the day your heart determines

The denouement

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