you were my favourite book

loving you was like reading my favorite book for the first time, and realizing half way through that it just knocked all other books out. halfway through me and you, I realized you were my favorite book. every crease, corner, page, and chapter of you was my favorite.
but then loving you was like finishing my favorite book for the first time. and I’m burned out carrying this novel around not knowing what to do. knowing I could never read another story that made me feel the way this one did. my heart still aches and starting it over isn’t an option. because beginnings, at least the good ones, are always slow. and it’s too many pages away from the peak in the book where everything is perfect and I just want to rush back to that spot. but then it’s not enough pages away from the drop in the book that opened my chest and shredded what was inside.

loving you is like that. and I can’t start over with you because I know how this book ends, and I don’t have the energy to write a sequel.

(it would never be as good as the first anyway.)

so I’m stuck carrying around this book that tells the beautiful story of a lost love that was supposed to last forever. and I couldn’t possibly pick up a new book, but god our book is thicker than I thought and it’s heavy in my arms, and the ending is so sad that thinking about it makes me cry and my eyes are drying out I think. and I’m wondering why I’m the one who’s stuck with the remaining pages when you jumped ship four chapters ago.

but loving you was like reading my favorite book for the first time, except it was one I borrowed from the public library and yesterday after six months of over due fees and letters in the mail, I finally dropped it off in the book drop outside the door. and I forgot all about the characters and the way they loved each other so sharply they both have cuts from the pages.

I read and write
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