You left me there—
like a story you never finished.
A book on a shelf,
gathering dust,
forgotten with time.

Your interest faded,
and the pages grew cold.
But I stayed open,
waiting to be held again.

Still, I wait—
hoping for that moment
your eyes land on me again,
like they used to.
Hoping you’ll turn back,
give us one more read.

I want to remind you
of the magic we once had—
the rhythm, the pull,
the way we made sense
between the lines.

So I sit here, quiet,
not moving,
but full of everything
we ever were.

Still hoping—
you’ll remember
what it felt like
to hold me close
and never want to put me down.