I was never an ‘open book.’
The covers created by my skin were
sealed shut with cotton blouses and jean shorts.
but I gave you permission to flip through all 687 pages of me.
On page 52,
you bookmarked my lungs and it took my breath away.
On page 112,
you read about my palms, and you followed each word with your index finger.
Holding hands had never felt so good.
On page 290,
you smirked in response to my heartbeat
and, I swear, it stopped for a couple paragraphs.
On page 325,
your eyes analyzed every detail of my flaws,
but you still kept me displayed on your nightstand.
On page 466,
you thumbed through a chapter explaining the sound of my voice
and i couldn’t help but sing for you.
On page 656,
you read until 3 am, then tucked me next to a tattered copy of
Looking For Alaska in your bookshelf.
I’ve sat here collecting dust for longer than I can remember.
r.m.
piegirl222
halfempty
infinityCx*
THeSToRyoFaFieRCeGiRL
Smile Hope *
Jordan.*