Pressed flower.

An old book in the book shelf
With an old book smell in its yellow pages
A folded corner of the first page
Wonder how that got there..

I run through the wads of paper
Running my right thumb over the pages as I hold it in my left hand
A dried flower falls out
A few anthers spill
I bend down and pick it up.
Wonder how that got here..

I rotate it holding its stem
I can still smell the old rose
It looks pale, but intact in structure
A souvenir from a time gone by
That time, this time
Wonder how I got here..