I thought I was the story of your life,
now I realise that I am just a chapter.
Just a chapter you can leave behind,
one that doesn't really matter.
I thought that we were the climax,
that we were the happily ever after.
Now I see I was just a passing fancy,
No more than a single chapter disaster.
In my story you are one and all,
you are every word upon every page.
I curl up and read you over and over.
Crushed in a self constructed cage.
I watch you just keep on writing,
pages flying you further from me.
Racing towards the end of your story,
to some girl in the distance you see.
I hope you read the book again one day,
and feel me in every word upon your pages.
Kiss me again with ink stained lips,
and feel me echo in you through the ages.
When the taste of ink is getting old,
and you have read me too many times.
Know I'm still curled up and loving you,
reading you in every one of my lines.