Paper Lives

The spine cracked, pages curling slow—

a dog-eared relic breathing dust.

Yellowed names, ink faded, lives inked

in tight loops and hurried notes.

Circles, stars, and crosses bleed

across numbers no one calls.

I flip through layers of forgotten homes,

answers swallowed by shifting years.

A leaf drifts down from the coat rack’s shadow,

a paper ghost fluttering,

like old leaves caught in a stale breeze,

telling stories no one remembers.

This paper lives in silence,

its edges sharp with time,

holding tight the weight of voices

that stopped answering long ago.