I walk into a bookstore.
I begin to browse, though I'm not really looking at the titles.
Just moving my fingers over the spines, waiting until one feels right.
My hand brushes over book after book until it just seems to rest on one.
I slip the book from the shelf and read the title.
It looks so familiar.
My heart starts to beat faster as I sink to the floor with the book clutched in my arms.
I sit down in the middle of the ailse, surrounded by shelves of books
I run my fingers over the cover.
It feels as if that book has been searching for me just as I have been searching for it.
I open the cover and begin to read.
I start the first story
And I realize that I've heard it before.
I skip to the next, and it is the same.
Story after story, I've heard them all before.
They are the same words.
They are the stories she whispered to me as I fell asleep.
They are the poems she'd leave for me in my shoes.
I don't know how I found the book
Or how the book found me.
But I sat there and read it from cover to cover
And back again.
With every word I read I can hear the sound of her voice
And she is with me again
As if she'd never gone.