You ask me write
and I try.
I weild my pen
I scratch the paper.

It feels like I've lost
The index to my book.
So many thoughts
Overpowering one another.
Yet not a single one
Strong enough to stand
On its own.

Pages turn endlessly.
Even the breeze pities.
Time slows - to help or mock,
I don't know.

I read again.
The sentences are lost,
The story now a puzzle.

Each page has a new story
but no ending.
Can these stories ever weave
A blanket whole
to keep all warm?

I look again.
It's another page.
Or maybe, I'm lost.

One thing I know.
The story must keep going.
Through tears and smiles,
confusions and truths,
This story shall keep going.

Until He who opened this book
Closes it forever,
There is hope.

And if narrated the right way,
There is hope even after the closure.
© Enyah