Tea and the Tattered Books

Tea and the Tattered Books

The cup was chipped, the tea long cold,

The air was thick with loss and dust,

The books lay open like old wounds,

Their spines cracked, faith turned rust.

I traced my fingers through the past,

Across the lines that love once knew,

The ink had faded into dreams,

The paper whispered what was true.

Each story carried ghosts of me,

Each cup had held a thought of peace,

Yet every sip returned the ache,

That time pretends will one day cease.

The candle flickered by the glass,

It danced upon the edge of night,

I saw the faces I once loved,

Reflected in its trembling light.

The room was full of quiet words,

Of things we say yet never keep,

And as the steam rose through the gloom,

The past began to fall asleep.