Pretenses

In the library, books piled high on my desk,

cluttered thoughts tangled, questions grotesque.

I heard them discussing, a theory laid bare,

but I smiled and nodded, pretended not to care.

Coffee stains mark pages, like ghosts of a time,

words slip through fingers, avoiding the climb.

I feigned ignorance, in my own little game,

but inside I felt strong, though I swallowed my shame.

The semester’s end loomed like shadows at dusk,

as truths turned to whispers, ideas to husk.

What if I reached out, let my voice weave a thread?

But I shrugged and withdrew, staying silent instead.