You're mysterious.
You're mysterious in the way that makes me want to open you up like a book and read your pages from start to finish but I can't because you are so high up on the shelf that I cannot reach you.
You sit up on the shelf collecting dust trying to protect yourself from the people who will rip out your pages or bend your cover.
Oh, how I wish I could climb up the shelf and take you down and have you tell me your story.
Maybe one day I'll finally be able to climb and reach out to you, but for now, you're just the book I have yet to read and you're on my list.