Dear My Beloved Copy,
I cannot recall the day that you came into my life that well anymore
(I guess I am a bad mother)
But I can remember is the complete euphoria of cracking your spine for the first time
what a relief that was to see something so pristine become something of my own
It has been three years since I first spoke to you
Although you might tell the same story every time we speak
It never gets old to me
You understand change well from all I put you through
the color of ink I use to write my notes in your margins changes
the post-its have ripped off some of your gentle fibers
the bunny ears I have folded have left irreparable creases
but you stay the same
the only change is me
I'm sorry for how much I have used you
I wish I could be one of those people
who could keep their copy in perfect condition
who could keep their notes on a separate paper
is it because I long to mark my territory?
is it because I want to see more of me in you?
what have you become?
who have I become?
what am I?
how selfish can I be
to ruin you for my own pleasure
oh how miserable it must be
to be used
but I can't stop