he took me off the shelf.

brand new.

filled with bright shiny pages,

with that distinct smell that makes everyone smile.

a new story with endless ideas of what’s inside.

he took me home.

opening to the first page,

instantly falling in love.

obsessed, he was.

reading those pages every second he could.

falling deeper in love with every chapter.

to finishing the book

realizing it’s the best he’s ever read.

rereading it over and over.

finding comfort in the words filling the pages.

treating me meticulously.

as if i was porcelain about to break.

until little by little,

the delicate hands turned merciless.

my pages turned weary, teared, and stained.

piling on top of each other

until my pages weren’t recognizable.

and one day i was put on the shelf,

to never be picked up again.

being hidden by what’s all piled on top of me.

no one wanting me,

no one picking me up to see what’s inside.

and soon i’m wishing i was back to the old me.

the shiny brand new book,

instead of the mistreated, frayed, tome.