That I spurn the bookmark
Amidst the pages of my tome
Searching for the word where I left off
The word where I decided -
That reality was more pressing than fiction.
And so I read and reread
Words that already passed
The corridors of my mind.
I run my fingers along well-loved lines
While the one I seek
Waits mischievously on the sidelines.
No, the book isn't done with me yet
Not done reprimanding me
For choosing Life over Literature
For abandoning mid-way
What I ought to have finished
Or at least marked with my presence.