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I agree with your words,
with the thought that I have turned
enough of your pages.
I agree with you that
with all the time I spent reading,
my hands are now numb.

I promised myself
that I'll hide you in my shelf
and forget you for myself,
but I hid you in my
current pillowcase, darling,
just to make you the book
that I'll keep on reading.

If it could be possible,
I never want to close your book,
but having you opened
would make you so vulnerable,
and I never want to have you ruined.

If it could be possible,
I wanna reread all your chapters
today... time and again,
but I've learned that I'm never
ever the reason why you were written.

In the rain, in the dark,
I wanna reread you again,
the way I was all but unsure,
but I know it won't happen.

You're all finished, darling,
all so finished, all so done
for the fact that for a book, I fell,
but won't there be your sequel?

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