"Well, okay, then," I replied, and watched his silhouette disappear into the dark.
I took a look around the room. Dusty old things, gardening supplies covered in hardened soil. A few moths here and there, flitting around in the sunlight streaming in from the window.
That's when something caught my eye. It was a book, lying on the shelf next to me. It read, "Poems to Remember". I picked it up, and my fingers left prints in the dust. I blew on the cover and watched the dust billow up, just like in movies. And I opened the cover; and this is what I saw.
The page that I opened to had a poem (obviously). But the amazing thing was, that around the poem, the sides of the page were crammed with notes written in blue pen. I kept flipping through pages. Some of them were pen-free. A lot of them were filled with notes, sometimes in blue pen, sometimes in red. I thought it was my grandfather's handwriting, but I wasn't quite sure.
I kept flipping through the pages, until I heard my dad coming up from the cellar. I shut the book and returned it to its spot on the shelf. My father stepped onto the concrete floor, hauling a bucket of carrots and potatoes.
We left the farm soon after that, but the book lingered in my thoughts for most of that evening. I hope I'll get to look at it again soon.
Abbie /// XOXOX