I turn pages and discover parts of my soul
Words that reach, that creep, and grip my neck
Flipping, reckless, many words said for all
As told by vast horizons, and those unspoken yet

In all pages that mark my books, my libraries
My heart seeks your distant shadow, closest to me
Imagined oceans crown yearned for realities
Many faces worn, torn, and freed

I turn pages and discover parts of my soul
Yet I want your words drawn the most, repeated, the same, endlessly
I am afraid that mountains atop mountains have long grown within, untended, carelessly
I turn pages and drown, drown, and drown.
I drown, willingly.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Mayan, in the year 946 AF.