You left your book again, page 12
Like a note that wrote itself
You always say “I’ll grab it soon”
But I keep it safe in my afternoon
Left your book again, right here
The folded page feels too sincere
You’re not forgetful—you just stay
In little ways, you find your way
I stack it slow but never hide
It’s part of how you slip inside
You bookmark things without a word
Then laugh like nothing just occurred
But every time, it’s like a trace
Of you, still sitting in this place