Yellowed Pages

Our paths crossed today,
colliding recklessly
in a cluttered aisle
of the used-book store
downtown.
An imperceptible breeze
caught the current
launching
a lingering gaze,
suspending
our incomplete novel,
flinging loose pages
through thick air
perfumed by rows
of yellowed paper.

Unspoken phrases
hung heavily between us
like dust particles floating
in the beams of
misplaced sunlight.
Memories,
ghostwritten by eager hands
beneath candlelit passion,
caressed the musty space
that we dared not cross.

Fragmented emotion
rustled invisible parchment
urging a conclusion
abandoned by climatic pens.
Yet we turned,
feigning interest
in the books stacked
on rusted metal shelves;
her fingers intertwined
with yours
and his with mine,
neither noticed
the scattered pages
their shoes tread upon.

by Gina Marie Moody

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