Leaves

Emperor Max had spent all night turning the leaves of textbooks, and then came the dawn. Since he hadn’t dressed for bed, Max went into his garden. There, also, were many leaves. The cool morning air graced the dew on the grass. Max realized he was thirsty. He had lived already more than half his lifetime, but his experiences were limited. He realized the reason he liked bones— they weren’t transient. He liked books more than flowers; he liked bones more than leaves. He never wanted to travel, but that didn’t mean he wanted things to stay the same. A man over fifty isn’t supposed to still be learning about himself, but Max couldn’t see anything wrong with it.