Muse to a Misguided Misanthrope

There is no other work of art I would rather read

Than when the sun dips its pen and covers your paper skin in prose

Another tome to study and interpret, to devour over and over

It will speak of love and loss and pain and pride

But offer none of their definitions

It will be open ended, for us to draw our own conclusions about each other

And ourselves

The kind of book you take from the library and never return

So that years down the line, when you see the little tag on the inside cover, you remember exactly the moment you found it

And the same moment you decided to never give it up

I will read you cover to cover

And day dream of your contents in my spare time