Tragically Fading

A tragically faded, yellowed page in a book.
Your book. Left opened to the hanging last word.
A relic from a time before its writing brought discomfort.
The pain of which you so violently oppose.
You dispose of it each time the new words
give an inevitable cry to be written.

Yet the story demands to be continued.
As life does continue beyond your museum walls.
Walls that protect the words already penned,
when things were still safe, secure.
In times before pages turned brittle with your patient fear.
Yet writing more words now would to you
mean destroying the whole story.
Better to archive and preserve the life then live in it.