The story has long ended when he left some years ago. But, I’ve never gotten tired turning back a few pages of the final chapter.

Flashback: 17 years ago…

I listen to the sound between words
When you gasp for air to breathe,
And hold on to dear life,
Where the evidence hangs tight on
Whatever you say next.
Today I am saying nothing—
An on mute storyteller,
Devouring silence all to herself;
Breathing in a volume of air
As if keeping some for tomorrow.
And when you speak again,
The novel is chopped into fragments;
Pauses are more frequent this time,
Delaying denouement.

© Gheeneil


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