I love my dead relatives
like I love the broken
spine of my favorite book
I love the bent back pages
and the sad dust cover
of ruin. I’ll never discard
it. I take it out often and
bookmark it in memories.
In the chapters, I want the
words to live again. No
matter how many times
I reread the text, there is
no next scene.
I hope it plays out in
another dimension.
I’d like to think some things
are like this.
The morning light casts a
glow upon the cover,
giving it an angelic gleam.
Who could not admire the
beauty of a well loved book?
Wreckage made by years of
reading favorite passages
over again, and who could
not mourn, the sudden shock
when the pages begin
to fade?
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 