On Completing a Book

Reading the last page of a book,
Is like living the last day of a life,
A life so true, as if dreams were real,
Is like loving someone for one last time,
Meeting someone over the last date,
Knowing that you have had,
So many moments that you cannot relive again,
Even if you did the entire thing again.
If the library were a universe,
Stars beyond numbering,
I would be one of them,
Longing to light up the world,
Just like the others do.
Gather them up, before I sleep,
Count them, one, two, three, four,
Get frustrated when I lose my tracks,
Start again, until my eyes get cut off,
From the light around me,
Putting me into a deep slumber,
Filled with dreams from everything I have ever read.
For life is but an empty book,
Meant for you to fill in its pages,
And how you do that would make you or mar you.
On finishing a book,
The only happiness that one does feel,
That I feel right now,
Is that,
Another one is on my way,
Another story to live, another character to love,
Another person to become,
Another life to enjoy, while it lasts.

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