Dear Paperbacks,

 

You were once a dreaded activity in my house,

nothing more than a useless way for me to pass time.

There were millions of other things I wished I had been doing,

All of which had nothing to do with me reading you.

 

Maybe it was because I knew that if I gave in,

I would fall into a rabbit hole of not knowing how to live without you.

I better not try it.

 

You intimidated me.

I knew, but didn’t want to admit, that I wouldn’t get to understand,

Your value increased with every hundredth page you packed on,

Which inevitably added to my desire in walking away from you.

 

What if I had changed my mind earlier?

I didn’t know that reading you could mean anything but pain and annoyance,

But I picked you up...

 

...And set you back down.

I wasn’t going to voluntarily sentence myself,

a commitment as deep as the one you require, I wasn’t...

But I did.

 

And I was right,

I wasn’t ready.

You made me nervous.

Made my palms sweat,

Heart beat faster,

Eyes moving quicker than I knew they could.

 

And then you stopped.

 

You gave me a temporary home and took it away,

You made me fall in love with those I shouldn’t have.

You took away the facts I thought I knew.

You changed me and left me with broken remains,

 

But you put them back.

Because I kept looking and I found you.

With a different name, different personality,

But same you.

 

Maybe I shouldn’t have.

 

With Deep Sentiments,

 

Michelle Zarate