muse:
the long, bamboo bookmark flashes through the air as i swivel it between my fingers, up and down. the old blue ribbon wrapped around the stick is slowly unraveling, its fibers sticking out at awkward angles with an uncannily high number of independent threads. the name of a country is painted onto the wood, the memory of a journey imbued in the foreign wood. i drop the bookmark back into the crease of the book i'm reading and let the nostalgic bamboo stick take me back into its past, its story. the lights around me continue to glow softly as i let myself slip into a deep slumber, punctuated by the glimpses of a life past.
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