One More Chapter

What feels like comfort, you say?

What embrace soothes the soul?

It’s a well written line from a most loved book

“Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it.”

It’s the stanza from a poem that reads like love feels.

“where I does not exist, nor you

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”

Comfort is cracking the spine of a new book

The sorrow and joy of turning the last page

It’s the way words burrow into your marrow,

Painting pictures you’ve only ever seen in dreams

Putting imagery to things you’ve only ever felt

But never been able to describe

And how you thought you were alone

But now you know that someone, somewhere,

Feels it, too

And somehow, that makes it universal

Comfort is the smell of ink on paper

Stories told and lies sold and hope eternal

It’s the taste of escape in characters that feel like family

And the iron tang of knowledge from lines

Lines that have built your world

Comfort is your fingers trailing over titles

The promise of losing yourself

To a world where the outcome is controlled

It’s the ache in your neck from reading too long

But you tell yourself the same lie over and over

Comfort is saying, “One more chapter.”

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