The shelves were heavy with silence.
Ink longed for eyes, paper craved fingers.
She ran her hands over the spines,
whispered to them in the dark,
promised them one day
someone would listen.
The shelves were heavy with silence.
Ink longed for eyes, paper craved fingers.
She ran her hands over the spines,
whispered to them in the dark,
promised them one day
someone would listen.