The Ending of a Beautiful Beginning

I remember the day vividly, 

Nearly two months ago from this very day,

Strolling through the whimsical small-town bookstore

Adorned in my beige coat and dainty dress

I simply browsed the dust ridden shelves, 

the intention of adopting a book never crossing my coffee warmed mind.

Perusing the seemingly endless overcrowded shelves a particular book diverted my attention.

In a bookstore drowning in the writing and shouting of all those that muffled its quiet whispers,

The collage of experiences tightly knitted to create a worn spine,

The soft used leather of his jacket,

The book stood out, 

creased with its past of mistreatment and love,

yet didn’t cry for attention.

I admired this book and felt a strange, unfamiliar pull to its lighthearted presence.

Gently lifting the book into my gloved hands,

Careful not to add any more strain to its worn pages,

I was instantly filled with a warmth that no coffee nor tea could ever provide.

It was then I decided I wanted this book to become apart of my life,

Or perhaps to become part of his.

As one lovely month faded into two,

Our connection grew and my absolute admiration for him and his every action

Became ingrained in my hopes and dreams.

But, as I became more engulfed in the stories of his pages,

I noticed that his story still had yet to be finished.

And everyday a soft cursive would fill the empty pages,

Adding to the story that would one day be one passed down for generations.

My love for him made me so intrigued to read of the stories he lived, the stories he’s currently living.

From where I lay, tangled in my blanket laden bed, 

I read the stories he’s writing but can’t help to notice that, 

Although he was such a big part of my life,

None of his stories were of me.

None of his stories told of those late night conversations, those awkward encounters that brought a deep blush to both of our soft cheeks.

What was a beautiful beginning in my head, was simply nothing more than another person in a crowded book store to his.

This was when I realized this wasn’t the book for me.

Disappointed by my own fantasies, broken by what could have been, 

I regrettably returned the book to that small-town bookstore for another lucky soul to pick up and see the ending I will never be a part of.

- Hillary Deschamps