You're the book that I closed.
The story was hopeful and ended bitterly.
You tore your pages in spite of me.
I stopped reading to repair you.
I stopped writing when you hid.
The story was over before I gave you away.
I name you Thief of Years.
May you find solace on another shelf.
You're the book that I want to read.
Worn, dog eared, and taped.
Your scars a roadmap of your journey here.
I can't put you down.
It's a thrill to write in you.
The story isn't finished.
You have no title.
But you're welcome to my shelf anytime you visit.