I wrote this thinking about you
and how if you were a novel,
you'd be an adventure of sadness and happiness and love lost in between.
You would remind me of the sky and mountains and constellations and caffeine.
You would be full of pages
that make me laugh and other times fall apart.
You would smell like history with a worn- out spine and ink that could still bleed.
You would always be the novel
I took down from the shelf to read.
YOU ARE READING
ρσємѕ
Poesiethis is the recipe of life said my mother as she held me in her arms as i wept think of those flowers you plant in the garden each year they will teach you that people too must wilt fall root rise in order to bloom - rupi kaur
