sing for those who cannot hear

and someday someone finds you,
laying buried and forgotten. 
your pages cough out dust
and your binding wears with time

but this new person, they come anyways,
driven by secrets and mysteries 
and the thrill of a new story, new perspective,
they are a reader, and you are meant to be read.

you are a small book in the world of 
famous series and small self-improvement chapters.
yet this reader comes to you, reaches their hand
to trace across words in the musty parts of the library.

you have been banished to the back room, 
lying on back shelves and choking on neglect.
you are rotting there, unread and unsung. 
but just wait for your time, it will come. 

some day, you will be read, and your story told. 
it will be a sad one, yes. but a story nonetheless. 
and your reader will devour it, the way of this
perfect book that fits like a well-timed firework.

you will move, do not worry, 
to a tabletop in a bright home,
where the light is kind, 
and the dust leaves you be. 

you will sit there, pages open, 
and you will be the book that nobody wanted.
but that is okay. you are okay. 
you have been the book that somebody needed. 

The End

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