Pages Left Behind

The paperback lies open,

to a page yellowed and cracked,

words blurred under flickering light.

I try to find the rhythm,

the pleasure of slipping into pages

that don’t demand or judge.

But the letters swim,

blurred by years of urgent news,

of deadlines, headlines, the noise

that stole quiet afternoons.

The year I stopped reading for fun

was the year the silence broke.