Wind Rewrites

The wind enters, an invisible librarian,
leafs through the diary of your life;
dust dances between the pages,
and time shifts, vibrating in a breath of paper.
It rereads the orthography of memories,
correcting dates, names, and tempers;
the words dress themselves in new scripts,
and accent aligns to a different music.
In the margins open unexpected spaces
phrases that tremble, pauses that gleam.
The past bends, the present renews itself,
while the wind writes the alphabet of choices.
Thus the book breathes, it is not closed,
but open to a tomorrow that rewrites itself.
Every page is a breath that remains,
every syllable a road that changes direction.