I looked you in the eyes and I let you in. I yearned for our beginning, dreamt of our "hello."

You were a book on the shelf and I wanted to read every word you had to say.

Your kindness luring me in but only to be what was splayed across the cover.

You opened up and introduced me to your prologue. I learned I must hold you with care. Turn each of your pages oh so delicately, sure not to cause any bends or tares.

Your chapters slowly darkened.. Each letter twisting and turning into a hypnotic swirl, I'm stuck..

You found my innocent gaze and had it in a chokehold, forcing me to keep reading.

Only this was no romantic novel..

What had I done to change the course of this story?

How did we get here?

I took care of you, treated every horrifying word with love.

You bent your own corners and said I did this to you.

You slightly tore a page and screamed this was my fault.

I prayed you'd let me survive to the epilogue.

You looked me in the eyes and you had already forced your way in. I cried for our end, begged for our "goodbye."

If he wasn't going to love me, he wasn't going to love anyone...