possibly.

i am surrounded by books i've been meaning to read.
stacks of words
perfect bound
new.
sandwiched between
cover art
and epilogue -
sentences
i've never imagined.
thoughts
that aren't yet
mine.
authored by
many.
shared by
strangers.
now collect fragments
of my house.
dust that settles and stays
until my index finger
clears a path
to find the words
again.