An Open Book

I still have some of your things.

I carry a few of them around

just in case you ask for them back

so I can see you again.

 

I have your book.

I remember how happy you were to lend it to me.

It’s one of your favorites.

It still smells like you.

 

I’m afraid to open it now.

I’m scared every time I do

your scent will fade

and I’ll forget it.

 

I used to be one of your favorites too.

I wonder sometimes if I’m your book

and you’re afraid to open me,

afraid because you don’t want me to fade.

 

Well, I won't.

I want to be opened,

I want it to be you

who opens me.

 

 

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