If only I knew where to turn,
Other than the turning of a page.
Maybe I will stop searching
Between the words,
For hopes that glide and
Surround me like birds.
I could lose myself
In an afternoon,
With a cup of coffee
and a book.
At the very end of that line,
I close the book and sigh.
For the thud echoes heavily
Out of earshot,
But in my mind.
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