In the recess of the library, behind
his least loved books
there is a wormhole to the past,
a void that some would call his prison
and others his escape.
on the first day of another year
the aged librarian prepares the tea
pretending that his first
and only love
will come and tell him: “Yes”.
Her hair is snow but in her eyes
the sea is still as wild,
just like the day she left.
“I never asked”, he says
remembering the unsent letters
that he knows by heart.
“I knew”, she says, “that’s why I left”.
The teapot crashes to the floor,
and like countless times before
the aged librarian accepts
that years, like river water,
can never be reversed,
and he returns again
to the timeless space of books.