𝙎𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙡 𝙄𝙄𝙄：𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖀𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖗

𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚, 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣- 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙙. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　-𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺𝘯- ✟ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖑 ✟ ✧ ————— ✟ ————— ✧ Winter afternoon a day stripped of warmth I tighten around my fragile 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 holding in what warmth remains. At the far end of the bookshop lights flicker like uneasy pulses urging me... to turn away. ✟ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋 ✟ ✧ ————— ✟ ————— ✧ Yet on a battered shelf a decayed volume waits, drawing me. My breath seeping into its dampened ink. ✟ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝕾𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 ✟ ✧ ————— ✟ ————— ✧ I leaf the first page to read and feel eyes upon me measuring this 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, whether it still qualifies as one allowed to breathe. A faded bookmark bears my name its letters pressed in ink covering what came before. ✟ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕻𝖆𝖌𝖊 ✟ ✧ ————— ✟ ————— ✧ A chill stirs the next page the text runs its checks: what I read was not left by the borrower before me. Returning to the previous leaf I find only emptiness Yet the bookmark remains my name inscribed anew bare, precise with no more ink to mask the cold... 𝔞 𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔬𝔫𝔢. ✟ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑 ✟ ✧ ————— ✟ ————— ✧ I close the book softly my 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑 stirring at the sound and step out into the aisle. ✟ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖂𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 ✟ ✧ ————— ✟ ————— ✧ Winter afternoon daylight remains cold I feel nothing... Yet a borrowed weight remains.