The cracked spine yawns wide

The cracked spine yawns wide,

pages curling with fresh hope.

Ink sharp and spicy, like a secret

waiting to be swallowed whole.

I breathe in the dustless air

where stories haven’t been touched,

and feel the weight of something new—

a pulse beneath the paper’s skin.

The smell is a small rebellion,

a flash of light against dull days,

a quiet promise whispered

between the lines I haven’t read yet.