For each story I’ve unfolded beneath those flesh & bones,
it becomes a little harder to manage them.
Some bits and pieces stick together and some go apart like
fine cracked glass which fell on the floor from the shelf.
For all I need are more bookmarks,
those dry lifeless dots which stick around,
to pick up where I left,
to remind me what was the context,
to help me find the purpose I began,
and to find a reason not to give up at last, because
there must be something for which I’ve come so far.
It breaks me every time I read a little and decide on which part to pursue later,
which in turn makes it harder to solve the puzzle.
Maybe someday, I’ll be able to pull all them off away for the one last time,
with a tiny portion left to go whine,
and let those connecting bits covered under the layers of dust.
Because, only then it will be truly over.