i treasure my old books, especially the one on my bedside. It holds a memorable romance that i look forward to reading at night
sometimes i study each word looking for a deeper meaning i slip on my glasses trying to get cosy in a silk blanket seaming at whats left . sometimes i read into each syllable searching for more depth i come across a few pages through which blood and tears crept
sometimes i find myself thinking about the end i toss and turn in my bed deciding on turning to the last page condemned sometimes my mind wanders off to a new story about a kiss between best friends i beat myself up- hoping my book took no offence
sometimes my book doesn't like the attention sometimes i wish i could crack open another spine sometimes i crave a new book a book that shows me constellations with a naked eye an eye that's the key to the lock the lock that's attached to the rib-cage he allowed me to crack a crack that led me to to his heart. a heart that finally had my name as the title.