Within books

I found this old Neil Gaiman paperback the other day at the bottom of my wardrobe. It was a battered pocket-book copy of Neverwhere. I guess it might have gotten misplaced when I moved in to the new apartment last year.
There was a picture lost inside it- It is this photograph of me and the guys at the living room at that first place we shared together. I still have a full head of hair in it- also a goatee- which must place photo circa '99, or 2000, tops.
We're all holding glasses of wine or cans of beer, half-drunk, smiling, not a care in the world… kind of like, “what could go wrong?”, you know? Exactly like that.

Then there was another book too, an entirely different one. You scribbled me something I'll never forget on the inside of the front cover of that book during the wee, wee hours of the morning of July 24th, 2006. There was one single strand of hair, light auburn I think, and short- obviously yours- tucked between the last page and back cover.

Thinking of yesterday like this inevitably gets me thinking of tomorrow.