While rearranging the pile of books,
The eldest realize that her sister and her,
Are just like Lainie and Tara.
Not completely the same,
Yet unlikely indifferent either.
Like I wrote earlier,
A water to my fire.
A Marco to my Celia.
A Poppet to my Widget.
Somehow it strikes me.
All of our books compilation in that room,
When the time comes for me to start a new life,
The books too,
Will start crumbling to pieces.
Because what I have,
She doesn't.
And what I don't,
She does.
If I take away what's mine,
And left hers,
Won't our books cry for each other?
Missing the chapters?
Incomplete?
What will happen to our future,
Is something unforeseen.
Somewhat scary,
And thrilling.
Just like the black and white strips of the circus tent.
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