I step into the bookstore heart tight with nostalgia

I step into the bookstore, heart tight with nostalgia,

the smell of ink and paper wraps around me,

I approach the counter, a book in hand—

its cover smooth, untouched, a title embossed,

a weight of unfulfilled promises and quiet dreams,

the pages crisp, yet hauntingly still.

I return it now, never opened, never known,

it feels heavier than when it first graced my shelf,

like a ghost of intention, a faded dream,

my fingers brush the surface, a bittersweet farewell,

I wonder how many stories lay inside,

left to gather dust while I forged my path,

and the girl behind the counter smiles, unaware.