You see, the problem is
you have hands
that remind me
what it's like
to have something to hold
arms
that remind me
what it's like to be held
eyes
that remind me
what it's like to get lost
a nose
that touched mine before it happened
and lips
lips that remind me of the softness of a kiss
and I can't think of anything
but them
when I see them

the problem is
you thought you knew me
but you knew so little
because the conversations we had, they were deep,
but they weren't deep enough,
a shallow river, but we needed a trench

you weren't willing
but neither was I
and that's okay
because where I am now is better than where I ever was with you

you knew me the best but not at all
because you should've known enough to write a novel and then a book II but you

you couldn't even write an introduction

you knew me the best, but you didn't know me at all

I gave you books and sources and information but you didn't read a single word, let alone turn the page and I need someone to turn the page, turn the page without glancing at the index to summarize me because you cannot possibly summarize a person

someone who will dive into the depths of me and who won't sleep until they finish, who will stay awake like a young girl reading a novel she simply cannot set down

who won't judge the words but who will admire them and the beauty they convey because words, words are alluring

you could've written something beautiful
but you didn't even pick up the pencil
so I ripped the paper to shreds.