She has a knack for leaving things behind,
and for never forgetting.
She remembers dates like how she memorizes the color of the sunsets on certain days of the week,
with an air of vigilance.
She buys books she'll never read because they feel right between her chapped fingers,
and the pages are that faded dull yellow that
draws her in.
She has that odd sort of handwriting, that is somehow precise and scratchy,
as if she prefers it that way.
I've seen that handwriting often,
it's the type you see everywhere.
scrawled on the inside cover of used books,
or on a little note or a scrap piece of paper left out in
winter's wind.
And you've always had a tendency to pick them up and give them a home--
because your the type of person to keep things.
You wonder who they had belonged to,
and you hope maybe you'll meet them someday because they seem like the type of person
that needs keeping.
YOU ARE READING
Slip of the Tongue ~ A Collection of Poetry
Poetry"But I don't want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin." ~Aldous Huxley
