I wrote this thinking about you
and how if you were a novel,
you’d be an adventure of sadness and mystery
and love lost in between.
You would remind me of the sky and mountains
and constellation and caffeine.

You would be full of pages
that would make me laugh and other times fall apart.

You would smell like history with a worn out spine
and ink that could still bleed.

Surprisingly,

You would always be the novel
I took down from the shelf to read.

Mai