The Pages of Our Book



The fire still fiercely burns.

You say, but they’re just words.

That memories won’t fade.

Even when the page has turned.

The smoke fills up the room.

From thoughts with empty pages.

You came and left so soon.

It feels like it’s been ages.

Sometimes, I give myself quiet time.

Alone, and prefer it that way.

Seems cold and better somehow.

Knowing at least one of us will stay.

You think that I don’t care.

That I’d stopped loving you.

But you never really knew me.

The way that I knew you.

You think that it was easy.

To come and then to go.

Maybe I’m projecting.

For now, it’s been so long.

You used to send me notes.

Connecting in such a way.

Expressing and sharing thoughts.

I think of you every single day.

I don’t know where you are.

What you’re doing, if you care.

It’s almost as if you’re dead.

But your soul is in the air.

Maybe you still think of me.

And maybe all along.

After everything that’s happened.

Was I just another song.

Anne Cohen
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