Story of me

Each one held generations of knowledge,
But there were so many of them,
More than a single mind could hold,
More than my mind could fathom,
I paced through the shelves,
looking for what would catch my eye,
I hadn't gone too far,
When I saw it.

The spine was bright with colour,
The cover more captivating,
The title stood out,
Asking more questions than giving answers,
My mind raced in anticipation,
My fingers eager to caress each page,
of the book that simply read,
"The story of me"

The first page told a familar tale,
One I'd never read but knew well,
It told a story of birth and age,
Of joy and sadness,
Of life and laughter,
of days well lived.
But beyond the page titled "today"
The pages were yet to be written.

Empty pages waiting for the pen,
To write the tale and how it unfolds
Pages that could end in any way,
That needed me, to fill them in.
It was more than a day's work,
It would take years to complete,
I clutched the book with much thought,
And imagined the story of me.