I have this book that I love to carry
I take it everywhere you see
Inside there are no pictures
Only stories of you and me

It’s bound in hope and memories
But its pages give it form

See, some are tattered
Some are torn
Some have become faded
Some are worn
And some are stained

But what remained
Was a history
The day to day telling of our mystery
That took forever to figure out

But even after all this time
I know without a doubt
That this book was really based on you
And I’m glad I filled it out.