I wrote for you once,
a whole book or two,
of pretty things and love from me,
and a wishing well of hopes.
I thought about the future for you,
so you needn't worry a little
I planned out every detail
of life as we would live it
I wrote it all in a diary
and marked my favorite page with a feather
It's the page where you take my hand and walk me home
Away from this horrid place
But one day the flames were low
and you were very cold
So there it went,
feathers and all.
You said my dreams were warming you,
but you didn't see inside of me
freeze completely through.
I can't love anyone who burns books.
xoxo the storyteller