Open book

We’re an open book

Understanding each other, reading each pages

Just as we stare to our own content

Pages by pages, it only show a blank chapter

We are what they called “bookworms”

Yet you’re the silverfish that linger inside

And as I am that book that dusted too old

We are both held deep inside the shelves

As we write our journey, reaching to the climax

You stopped; dropping the pen of life from me

Delaying the quest; relieving the dreams you have

And I’m now that unfinished book inside the draft

Then I wrote your best chapter so far

Finishing it into a beautiful master piece

But I’m not the initial author of it

As I’m only your draft, then someone took the place of mine

I’m here waiting for someone to finish the story you’ve left

And here am I watching as someone read the stories I wrote

We’re just an open book

But we are the author of ourselves, making blank chapters

-CrisSon