In that corner,the little name echoed,as she sat,unfurling the pages of that old book..
Wish you had a heart,and I would have hugged you close to my heart..
My dear book,I feel tired of humans and their so called hearts..
Being heartless is such a great boon..
Your pages are filled with words,may be someone sat,before the old typewriter,to type every single word..
You speak in hushed voice..
About the time that leaves a mark,on the yellowing pages,on the torn corners..
May be countless came to read you,even hugged you to sleep,then left you,alone on the old green self..
And choose a new book,a new journey..
But I want a single book..
Donot matter thick or thin..
Dont matter old or young..
Dont matter yellow or black..
But can I write my name,in the corner of that heart,and take care of you?
Can you give me a little space in the pages,whatever unwritten is there?
And trust me,I would fill all my blank canvases with you,expressing you,the beauty of you..
And would keep your cover to pages safe..
Because in this heartless world,in a silent corner of my heart,you have made a tiny castle..
And I want to keep you safe,and that castle of words..
