An Open Book

I must prepare an anthology
Page by page, from here, from there, from me
By accumulation with curation, it looks like a story

Two passages haunt me, and I place them together to keep them in my sight, or perhaps to hide them more conveniently.

But I mustn't, for I have a special guest coming to read.

I leave it open there for all to see, but with the firm me binding it slaps shut before me. Hesitation and frustration, I consider paying chance heed.

I can't! Frantically I fling it open to the same two passages.

I thrust in a book mark. It's not enough! I cringe and dog ear a page, then flex the spine until it's not so tough. It will display my messages.

My battle won, my eyes intertwine with the entries es as I no longer know whether I wrote them or they wrote me.

Story uncovered, I turn my back, and escape to a window leaving my secrets to be discovered. I can't look. Step, step, step as they approach the book. With a sneak I peak. Relief, it will be done!

I watch in horror as they close it and read me today's newspaper.