My life is like a book. It's an easy read for those people who took an interest on the cover and the first few pages, but as the reader delve deeper they find the intricate part of my being and most likely end up losing interest. Therefore, I’m used to being alone in an old shelf and gather dust as I continue hoping that someone will pick me up and open the pages once again.
Then I met you. You were a bookworm who never let a dusty book pass him by. You saw me in isolation and picked me up. You took interest in the first chapters where everything is easy to read. You find amusement in reading the complex part of me. You understood every bleeding word, you pick up the torn pages and patch it up, you rub off the dust on my cover pages – you took care of me until I felt new again.
And maybe that’s how you became a part of my story. At first you were just a side character whom I never intended to keep but you were too assertive to be ignored. I opened up my heart and let you join me in my endeavor, comfort me in my troubles, cheer me up when I’m feeling down and chase my fears away. I thought it’ll be enough to let you be in a chapter, but you are too greedy. You wanted to stay for a few more chapters and I ended up hoping that maybe you’ll stay until the end. After all, you are the only one who never lost interest despite my complicated personality.
Looking back, you’re too good to be true and I started having doubts so I pushed you away. Somehow, I still regret that I did because I’m still stuck reading the chapter where I had you in it. I still wished that this is not yet the end of your appearance in my life. I waited for a couple of days until it turned into months and years but it was all in vain. If I just knew that that would be the last page of my story with you, I wouldn’t have ended it yet.
But I can’t turn back the time no matter how many times I flip the pages. I’m still in the last page of my story and I don’t know if I can continue or it will just end with such a sad ending.