I find it sad when i have conversations with you in my dreams
when you tell me that you moved on
Its like even my subconscious knows you don't want to be with me anymore
That you're not even worth the space you inhabit inside my head
But some how i still dream about you saying these words
the words you're too scared to say to my face.

When i'm sad i pick off my nail polish.
We haven't kissed in 2 weeks,
14 days,
14 different coats of nail polish

She was a closed book
A book that never opened up
Never let anyone read her
Kept her secrets hidden beneath the cover
Between the pages
In the spaces of the words that formed sentences
Sentences that described how truly damaged she was
How gentle and fragile

You took the book in the palm of your hands
You swung open the cover and read the pages
You didn't read it all
You must have missed the part where it stated you needed to handle with care
You must of skipped that page
Or skimmed over those lines
Unless you read it but didn't care
Because you started ripping out pages
They tore and crumbled as they hit the pavement floor
You threw the book down and walked away
A page was left inside
It said once you open this book you must stay.
you must have missed that part right?
Right?