Slowly as I wake up I recognize the way that I have changed into something I have adored so dearly.Maybe I like it better this way,with no feeling of intrusion only leaving with a sense unsure of my belongings. The hardness of my cover and the intricacy of my content are not intended for frail fingertips and weak personalities. I feel like have been opened here and there. My spine stroked by unstable hands, held with a broken center, my pages marginally skimmed through, just to be put down mid-sentence. I have yet be put in the delicate consideration of a peruser that wouldn't fret that my chapters are frequently stopped abruptly, my edges sharp and my pages wanting to be free; one with the intent to finish. As I acknowledge my place on the
