i’m turning a new page
with paper cuts on my fingers,
pushing hard to move on
but the pain seems to linger.
my mind considers
how a few months ago was disaster
and how today
i want so bad to read a new chapter.
i’ve seen previews in dark rooms, sat in my seat
waiting to see how soon
or how long i’d have to patiently wait
on my release date
but while i munch my popcorn i think
maybe it’s fate
that i’ve been cut from trying to skip pages.
so reluctantly i turn to the table of contents
and read down the list in order
so that next time i’ll be content
with taking this life one step by one
because the end of a story is just as important
as how it begun.