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Your Books Are My Books

and i wish they weren’t

By angela hepworthPublished 3 years ago • 1 min read

cigarette smoke

had seeped into the books on your shelves

long before you knew me

long before you loved me

long before I was here

now that I am here

and you are not

your books are my books

your books are in my house

i wish it didn’t matter

whose house they belonged to

and why

i wish they were our books again

together

as they once were

so i wouldn’t have to lower my nose

to their pages

to breathe you in

so i wouldn’t have to cry into my books

that were yours, once

and ruin them

and let my tears

wear down the pages

that you touched and loved

so i wouldn’t have to watch

as the paper goes soft

and gives away

pinched between my fingers

ripping without a sound

as i destroy the only things

you left me

besides the memories of you

that faded away

long ago

Familyheartbreaksad poetrylove poems

About the Creator

angela hepworth

I want to erase the tears of all those who trusted in hope; I want them to be left with a smile on their faces.

-Madoka

I’m Angela! I enjoy writing fiction, poetry, reviews, dumb self-indulgent stuff, and much more. Come check me out! :p

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    Written by angela hepworth