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Nov 2018
I lay on my back and I opened up to you,
Like a book lying on its spine.
It’s pages spread apart,
You rubbed the coarse paper in between your fingers,
Sliding down the edges even though you knew you would get a paper cut.
You turned the pages ever so softly,
Careful as to not let a crease happen.
My soul danced around your fingers,
My body shook beneath the words you whispered to me,
I spilled my secrets like the jumbled words on white sheets of spilled ink.
I was your novel and I couldn’t be more happy to let you construct the sentences of our slow,
Unwinding,
600 page book.
Can I be the protagonist of your story?
Allyssa Buenafe
Written by
Allyssa Buenafe  18/F/South Carolina
(18/F/South Carolina)   
163
   Fawn
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