The book. The writer.

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She was a book with few missing and tattered pages, silently sitting in a bookshelf, watching people and waiting for someone to notice and take interest in her story.

He found her one day, started reading into her pages, getting to know every twist and turn of her story. Days passed and he became familiar with her story and started to like her even with her incomplete chapters and worn out pages.

He soon started to write and add parts of his own story to replace and fill her missing parts; to make her whole again.

And just when she thought she was about to be complete again, he left.

Just like the others.
For the same reason.

Because he found a better book with a prettier cover, complete pages and a better story than hers.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐅? | ✅ Where stories live. Discover now