The drumming of the pouring rain,
she heard it in her dream.
The same old stifled scream,
she won't release to ease her pain.
A silent reverie, a door,
through which she always fell.
She knew the story well,
and yet she lost herself once more.
An open book lay at her hands,
a portal an escape.
She used it when awake,
a way to lose all life's demands.
Absently she turned a page,
her thoughts now turned to him.
So fleeting, on a whim,
a normal thing for one her age.
And so it came as quite a shock,
when waking from her daze,
She came to meet his gaze,
as she turned to see the clock.
What time was it? she did not know.
she did not seem to care.
She was lost in his stare,
her heartbeat fast, her breathing slow.
A tiny nod and half a smile,
before he passed her by.
With eyes that would not cry,
she found her book and read awhile.
Her books could make her feel alive.
Her books could make her shine.
Without him she was fine,
A broken heart could still survive.
Zinovia H. Hatzipetros