Reading You / the Open Book.

A Girl Reading

Charles Edward Perugini, 1878.

You told me that you were an open book.

I believed you, and I still do take your words for it.

I told you that I didn’t have to read the book just because it was opened.

However:

The only thing I forgot was that not all books have depth.

Not all of them possess significant meaning, nor are they written beautifully.

(it took me some time, but I’ve finally turned – to my next unwritten chapter, and closed you.)