Sun dried pages of a book
you've carried around
long before the first day
your father picked you up
and you felt what it meant to be free.

The cover scratched
from the cobblestone walkway
leading up to your front door,
the one where mom always greeted you
with a smile that defined the meaning of home.

Coffee stained corners
from the first all nighter you pulled,
the day you learned
to keep your thoughts tucked away inside your bag
instead of out in the open where drinks and feelings are easily spilled.

Two covers stuffed
with a life times worth of letters
arranged into stories
that haven't felt like your own in years.

Paper filled with unfamiliar feelings
flee your fingertips and you realize,
you haven't been concerned
with holding on for a while now anyway.

Sometimes the pages stop making sense,
and all that's left to do
is drop the book completely
and create a new one.

                And you use what you learned,
                                    but leave it behind