our books might be confusing

our books might be confusing, you see every one has a book they share. wether the book is a million pages or the book is as empty as my dinning room chair. you see our books are torn, which can be alluring, to those who want to pick it up with dangerous hands, they look at the pages and with there own creative minds, telling others of the story they read. they bend the corners of the pages with there misdeeds. when I see my book, it is incomplete. the cover is in ware and torn as it has been read by many dangerous hands you see they read but never understand, their words might hurt but all I can say is," take a seat ." but when I see your book, I am captivated, the light that surrounds your book is like something out of a fantasy. your book will be glued in my mind like ink on pages, never faded. so while our books are confusing, torn and incomplete, our stories intertwined together like to whole galaxies clashing into a beautiful unexpected explosion. we can ever be the same as we have made something that is now like concrete. our books we are still writing in are confusing, but they are books work the exploration. your flaws and