My Thoughts

The Bookcase

I drop down to my chair. My legs swing the chair round toward the dark wood bookcase that sits beside me. My fingers drift from book to book slowly selecting which one to punch into my brain. The dust from each book gathers on my fingers and I turn and examine them. I look at the names of each one. I pull one from the shelf. Seems fresher than the rest. I blow off the Dust from the front and run my fingers over the text. Disgusting. I smirk and pull the cover from the pages. Funny that. No chapter marker. I flick through the pages and I rip out the ones I didn't like. Giggling too myself as I tear out the pages of disappointment. It gets to the point where the book almost feels bare. So I throw it to the side and grab a new one.

I walk Into the room and see the selfish prick changing what he had because he can't respect what he gets. I leave the room with the bookcase and approach my bedroom. I move my way graciously through the house and I drift my way into my room. I sit at my desk and look into the mirror. I look at my desk. Not a single book. Nothing. I stare into the mirror and he stares back. I don't want to associate with him. He can't be me if I'm all the things people say I am. It doesn't add up. I lean forward and support myself with my arms. I pull up my sleeves so they cover my arms. I sigh and look back down at the bare desk. What am I supposed to do with nothing. I lift my arms off the surface and turn around to my bed. I fall down and grab ahold of my pillow. My years slip from my eyes and drench the soft material. It gets heavier in my arms as it soaks in my problems and my hurt, yet I still feel the weight on my shoulders. I hear footsteps and I look up. A man is stood st my bedroom doorway with a book in his hand. Slowly he extends his arm out.

Here

My eyes light up as I spring up off my bed and grab ahold of the book. I smile and turn to my desk. I jump onto my chair and run my fingers over the spine, reading it letter for letter. My legs shake as I slowly pull open the front cover. My eyes dart to the first chapter. Clean font. Good size. Wow. I begin to read and I analyse every word. I read every story and characteristic. For weeks its all I can think about. Getting home and reading more. I read into every word. The book seems almost infinite. I woke up one morning though and something was wrong. I look at the book and the front page was partly torn. I didn't do that. I don't do that. I get scared as I stare at it. Was it him. Is he ruining it for me. I push I to the back of my head and go back to where I left off. I keep reading and I hear subtle tearing. Quickly I flick back to the first page and its completely torn off. Tears fill my eyes as I try to fix it. Shaking profusely, I clutch one side of the book and try to shove and push it back together.

I woke up the next day. Still a mess from yesterdays dilemma. I move toward the book and a chunk of it was completely ripped out, violent tears spread across the book. I clutch the pieces of what i treasured in my hand. Its over. Its gone. I keep reading before the whole book is gone. All I can hear is the shredding and the rage builds up. Slowly I feel more and more angry. The ripping gets closer. And Faster. And more violent. The page I'm reading gets torn. I flick 5 pages ahead and try to read. The rest of the book trembles and shreds. All that's left Is the cover and a mountain of paper shavings. I'm sorry. Tears drip down the side of my face. I'm sorry. It falls onto the mountain of shavings and pushes them down and soaks them. What did I do wrong.

Why did I have to lose what I treasured most.
I'm sorry.