I’m reaching out, engaging and scrutinizing;
skimming through to see you.
Holding you intently, purposefully and committed.
You seemed an open book.
The audio version of your story mesmerizing, your truth so bold.
Then I went beyond your notes and found blank pages.
They told a different story.
You ring hollow.
There’s nothing there.
I have to put this book down.
The efforts made to unravel the mystery, and
the chances taken diving right in brought me no pleasure.
I learned nothing.
Maybe another blank page can read you properly.
I won’t waste my time on an empty binding.
Not again.
When I’m ready to read again, I’m sure
I’ll find a better book to discover.
I Write Her 
Excellent! I did enjoy your words!
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Reblogged this on I Write Her and commented:
Redux
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Love that personification of the book to the person! So many times people seem simple, and then you realize there’s a prologue, an epilogue, and realize there is a world of mystery beyond what you know about them. So strong. Well done! And thank you for your support!!
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You are very welcome! Thank you for your thoughts and kind words. :)
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