Open Book

How easily your fingers flipped through my pages, running gently along my edges, turning me over and over, highlighting all my best parts

You read me like the open book I’d made myself, saw between the spaces, beneath the ink, down to who I really am, who I could be

I am spread out completely vulnerable to your feverish touch, your bright eyes, your gentle smile, I am devastated, obliterated by you

Wish I could say it was your love for me that has broken my spine but we both know that’s not true is it? Yet I say (you already know it anyway) I love you, even though you don’t reciprocate, not really

Still it was you who authored this love, editing and rearranging my thoughts, stretching and layering my mind, oh, I’m broken alright, but in the best possible way

Please pick me up and read me again, tell me I’m your favorite book, the bestseller you always wanted to write before you met me, dog-eared and memorized but still reading something new each time

tara caribou | ©️2018

19 thoughts on “Open Book

  1. I fell in love with the way you worked the metaphor, turning page after page after page and telling a tale in so many chapters… the way you moved through it as one moves through the plot of a novel (or perhaps some holy book someone once held sacred) was incredible.

    Superb work. Seriously.

    Liked by 1 person

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