Camden — A lash falls to the page as I close the book for the last time. No special time, I have just finished it, the book.

The lash, now sealed within the book, I assume. I took note and was careful when closing it, the book.

The book, now put away, unlikely to be read, or even opened again for some time now, sits quietly in its new home.

The book, one day will be opened again, perhaps one day it will be read. Upon reaching page 310, the lash will still sit.

The lash, it may go unnoticed. Perhaps the lash will captivate. Whose is it, how long has it been here?

The lash, it is mine, from many years ago. Am I still here for you to ask? For this news, for this discovery, I hope you find me.

If I am not here, remember this book, this piece of me, of my younger life, a moment, an ordinary day, fraught with meaning, so many years from now.