Keepsake.

I built you a book-safe once-
A keepsake
Out of an old book I bought at a cape cod flea market.

It stuck right out in an overflowing pile of out-dated dictionaries, romance novels and war propaganda.
It was worn,
A cobalt blue.
And on it's cover was a serigraph of a gibson girl
A lace umbrella and all.
Elegant.
Her color registration slightly off,
Edges of the binding wearing down,
Torn,
Fraying.
Pages yellowed by time
It's body smelling like the earth
Smelling like history itself.
It stuck right out in that overflowing pile.

It had character-
Just like you.

I spent all night slicing into it's chest in a living room somewhere in the Fens
With eyes like a watchmaker
Gutting it.
Gluing and binding it back together again
Balsa wood and razor blades.
Working with fake horse hoof skin pealing from finger tips with tiny fish gills.
nicks,
blood,
blisters.

I loved every second I spent reincarnating that old forgotten story back into something with life.
Into a simple gift to make you smile.

Thinking back on it-
I should have sealed myself inside the damn thing.
If I had,
Maybe now I wouldn't be waiting like that book was when I found it
Sitting in some sagging warehouse on cape cod
Collecting dust in an overflowing pile of out-dated dictionaries, romance novels and war propaganda.

I could have been a keepsake.
Instead of another old,
Forgotten story.

Waiting.