I read somewhere that you leave books slightly thicker than when you bought them because you leave a bit of yourself within the pages
And looking back at every story I've read, I think I agree
My soul is in the flowers between the pages, picked in the meadow
There's a bit of me in the sword that the adventurer used to slay the villain
I left a bit of me behind on the edge of the cliff as I stood watching the approaching army
And despite the portal is closed
I know it will open again
A familiar adventure, waiting for me to return
YOU ARE READING
Year of 365
RandomA mess of short stories, poems, and whatever else I feel like writing. I will be continuing this for one year and in June 2022 I'll end it.
