My life was a book I had left on the shelf
A story I always said I would read
Collecting dust and coffee stains
Although I don’t even like coffee
But then I met you.
And for the first time,
I wanted to be read.
I wanted my pages to be strewn open
Each finger caressing my seams
Turning me through time
But you never did
You walked by every time
Only taking what you needed
Using my pages as kindling
For your next flame
And I hate how it took you ignoring me
For me to finally stop ignoring myself
But I’m not ignoring him anymore
I am writing and rewriting each page
Each mouthwatering word
To try and remember who the book is really about.
But I would burn every page
I would rip the binding from the sides
And tear the pages to shreds
Before I ever let you edit my work
Or critique my paragraphs
Or write your way back into my life
I wrote my name out of your biographies
And no words will ever replace me
No words will ever replace the taste of my name on your lips and all the memories we could’ve made.
But I suppose it’s only fair that I took nothing when I left you,
Since that’s all I ever was to you