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.
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.)