You’re a book I annotated too carefully. I highlighted the
adventures and sweet words, and wrote notes in the margins of what I thought it
could all mean. I was diligent, in search of grand meaning or profound
conclusion. But page after page, the novel of you turned to nothing more than
shallow fiction. When I reached the back cover I found quotes from girls past,
ones I couldn’t imagine existed, and before I knew it the story had ended and
it was my turn to evaluate.
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