My memories are just stories.
Just written words among a blank page.
Kept together by feelings that are like strings,
Wrapped around one another,
To become more strong and more painful.
When the story is told, it seems to unfold.
The strings are broke,
Releasing endless surges of emotions and feelings,
That were tamed for so long.
Now I mastered that putting a lock on my book.
I can lock all the page in place,
So the strings don't break,
So nobody can read it.
Its when we read to hard we feel sympathy,
For what one has gone through,
And it's then that we care too much.
But it's caring that gives us life,
Caring gives us meaning.
So I thank these books,
Because they're my life.