The Book Thief

A girl learns hunger by winter. 33 Himmel Street. Soot in the seams of her sleep — a book in her coat, a heartbeat she keeps. The sky kept its iron face. The world kept its rationed breath. She pressed each stolen syllable like a pulse she would not let go of. I am haunted by humans — haunted by humans. Their kindness, their ruin — their hands on the same small thing. I carry the small survivors. I carry the pages in me. I am haunted by humans — and still I keep the words. Rudy runs beside the train tracks. Yellow hair, skinned knees, brave and mean. Max in the cold, with the snow within — a man with a painted door on his skin. She gave him bread made of borrowed sound. He answered back with a world unbound. I am haunted by humans — haunted by humans. Their kindness, their ruin — their hands on the same small thing. I carry the small survivors. I carry the pages in me. I am haunted by humans — and still I keep the words. I have hated the words. I have loved them. I hope I have made them right. That is the book. That is the bruise. That is the lamp in the blackened night. Not for glory. Not for the grave. Only to keep them here. I am haunted by humans! Haunted by humans! Their kindness, their ruin — their hands on the same small thing! I carry the small survivors! I carry the pages in me! I am haunted by humans — and still I keep the words! The words remain... against the dark.