As I rummage through the thick book With the cover of harsh leather And the smell of soft pine. My fingers linger near the pages, Halting to check the title each time. Each line is written in Ink of the tears Whilst the words take me Into the depths of nowhere And to the center of something certain But I don't even know If it is empty or alive. My eyes blank out Like filling with something else As my present walks out While the past comes back. -Palak Solanki Lavender Daisy