It seems we live in this book
I run across paper just like you
I Have me some paper love.
I fancy running into you. My best pages.
But how long is our story my love?
Do you ever ask yourself this question
How many pages have been flipped
since the pen bled out our names
I know the ink is sweet and…
we haven’t seen our sour days yet
I should probably not ask this but. potato
We could be a year long or a century perhaps
look around you
characters in a script. That’s what we are
I’m glad we are written in one language, one story
What if you were someone else’s experience?
And I was looking at you from shelves away
I’d never feel your arms or own your scent
I’d have to read about you
They won’t let you know I was doing so
feel my jealousy in how fast I’ll skim through any females
Feel my love when I read about how you sleep
i’d be heartbeats into stealing ink to write me as your woman
But let’s face it my love
I’d get caught. Potato.
But that’s all a what if
For now I have you in my heart and eyes
We are my current read… I’m engrossed
I have us printed out
Copied and pasted everywhere
And maybe the last chapter is full of wedding bells and alters
But sadly, If we last less than our babies
Less than our first kiss
Then I blame the writer. Unless the writer