The abandoned book has a stare that breaks open multitude of stories unread. The dust covered pages remind me of sentences untouched. There is a stillness in the day with the loom of a tiring night still holding to the last breath of hope. An univited moth explores through the finely settled cover of dust leaving back trails that soon would be wiped with time. The day has the stillness of a silent river and time the pace of a crawling snale. The well lit sky has fallen into the illusion of a magic trick gone wrong and the clouds still ponder with the untimely spray painted sky. The table lamp still burns its flames hoping to burn the book for the story to rise like a phoenix bird from the ashes. The wait has been long and the parade of dust has started its invasion. The overflowing faucets of emotions seeps out monochromes of pain. A pain that is to reamain unaddressed. This book and this story would never be read by me as there is always a book in hand unread and a story untold.......
