A love poem

I don't want you to be a mystery.

I want you to be an open book.

I want to rifle through your pages, licking my thumb to provide traction on the sticky ones.

I want to write in your margins. Sometimes in pencil. Sometimes in ink.

I want to highlight passages I love. Ones that made me cry, made me laugh, made me think.

I want to dog ear your pages.

I want to open you up and smile at your scent, with its gift of memories and time.

I want to be careful not to break your spine.

But I'm probably going to do it anyways, given enough time.

I want to duct tape your cover when it starts to fall apart on me.

I want to read you again and again, until I can recite passages of you word for word.

I want to forget your ending.

I want to take you to my favorite coffee shop, sit in a sunny corner with you, put you on my lap, and stare at you.

I want to discover new things every time I read you.

I want to fall into you when I'm sad, dive into you when I'm happy.

I want to forget more than most people ever knew about you.

I don't want you to be a mystery.

I want you to be an open book.

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