Whole empty tables in the library bare,
coffee that was not cold on a day that was.
A lone pencil rolls away on worn boards.
The walls are lemon yellow,
no wallpaper to drive me mad.
Where does the lonely sunlight stream?
Quiet sighs that collect in pages
and leak out on my dappled ones.
…
© 2018 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
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