Due to the lack of internet connection, sucky, on and off internet connection, I didn't upload this…

I suppose a happier chapter, hopefully, it'll leave you feeling also a bit fuzzy and happy inside (?). Haha….tell me if it does.

I hope people actually still follow this...lol.

A foreign object disrupted my vision –

Something is different

New

Unsettling the white peace I just found within this block.

A book by the desk

Along with the flowers that have long lost their colorful skirts…now white washed, like the milky, opaque 'source of life' that has only become a death trap - stagnant water.

A scarlet bound book, gold threads intertwined with the pages

Glittering even without any light.

I hesitantly reach out

Touch?

Or not?

Misplaced or Mine?

It's been so long since I've held

Such a book,

Words, that breathe life into characters

Woven tapestries of richness

The smell, the crispness, so hard to put into words

I reach out, fingertips brush the matte texture of the beauty

And hesitate

Do I?

Touch…

The sensation jolts me

If I don't touch it…will it be something that I'll regret before I leave?

If then

I will hopelessly grab and never let go.

Closing my eyes like a coward, I hug it guiltily to my chest.

Like perhaps a child with a teddy bear

Or a stolen, forbidden jar of cookies.

I squeeze my eyes closed so

So I can delude myself…

why am I scared?

Open the book just a crack;

Run my fingers through the pages

Touch.

A collection of poems.

Beautiful.

Mesmerizing.

My nose pressed against the pages, Inhaling.

And with this

Foreign drops collect, wetting the words

No the paper can't get wet –

Sudden realization that the wetness are tears -

Visions swirl as I remember the night before…

Beck and call

Like two sides of a face, like the sun and the moon

Complete

Whole.

It was him, no doubt.

"Collection of Poems by John Keats"

Through the tears,

I feel the corners of my lips twisting into a smile I no longer know how to form.

Perhaps – just a slight thought, that perhaps

There is someone thinking of me

Even briefly, not even a second

The thought makes me feel warm.

Fuzzy.

I finger the cover – an indirect touch, for he probably placed his fingertips here, in the exact same position.

Perhaps he has also smelled the book like this

Caressed it like so.

Looking across the room, with the curtain blocking us

The girl.

I no longer feel envy…only that

She's lucky.

Very lucky.

My face crumples, and the tears become entirely something else.

A physical collection of loneliness.

The feeling

Of complete deprivation.

I am really alone aren't I?

One day left till her surgery.

And he might never come again.

I ask for a piece of paper and a pencil.

The pencil tip is dull, used, broken.

A reflection of everything in here.

And I begin to write.

'Sentimental feelings are feelings of weakness yet – '

Rambles on a life forgotten.

I place it on my desk.

And hope that in the morning –

Again, I hug the book and hold it to my chest

And fall asleep.

The day has not passed…evening. The paper's still there.

In the same position, the same fold

But

New ink. Cobalt blue, the lines written on there are elegant, simple.

'Sentimental feelings are feelings of weakness yet –

Once they entrap the heart, the chains of these emotions become a prison, never to be freed from.'

I take the pencil, and write another line.

'They squeeze till the heart ruptures, drowning in feelings that once seemed so foolish…until freedom is granted by passion even in death.'

On the bottom of the page,

I write two simple words.

Thank you,

I murmur.

Thank you, and good night.

Any feelings?

Thoughts?

Constructive Criticism?

R&R….XD

BTW. AHEM. FRIEND.

ITS BEEN LIKE HALF A YEAR. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BELATED BIRTHDAY FIC? AND I EVEN READ SLK. I DESERVE SOMETHING, HONEY.