Read All About It

I'm afraid to let you see 

that I 

am only ever going to be 

a work of fiction. 

And all I wanted was to be 

somebody's favorite story:  

pages dog-eared and coffee-stained, 

highlighted and rough with dried tears. 

All I wanted was to be 

someone's happily ever after, 

written words whispered into wind, 

a mantra against loneliness.

But darling, 

I am only a work of fiction,

poorly written fiction,

and I do not blame you 

for putting me back onto the shelf.