If People Were Books

You're the mysterious book on the highest shelf of the darkest room that my friends told me not to read,
but I childishly and selfishly stood on my tiptoes and reached for you until you fell into my lap.
Though when I finally got to hold you, you continually refused to open up to me.
You remained shut tightly regardless of how hard I tugged at your cover.

All I wanted was to read what you thought and how you felt. 

I wanted to read you from your beginning to your ending.

I wanted to read about the occasions that left you feeling like you could fly. I wanted to read about what had hurt you enough to leave you seeming troubled all the time. I wanted to read about every point in time that you laughed so hard you cried. I wanted to read about the moments that broke you down to discovering where you wanted to go in life.

Maybe I wanted to help you write an ending, or maybe I simply wanted to see if you were worth reading. 

But if people were books, I wish I would've only skimmed your summary.


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