Why Can't This Be Love.

Dear My Beloved Copy,

I cannot recall the day that you came into my life that well anymore

(I guess I am a bad mother)

But I can remember is the complete euphoria of cracking your spine for the first time

what a relief that was to see something so pristine become something of my own

It has been three years since I first spoke to you

Although you might tell the same story every time we speak

It never gets old to me

You understand change well from all I put you through

the color of ink I use to write my notes in your margins changes

the post-its have ripped off some of your gentle fibers  

the bunny ears I have folded have left irreparable creases

but you stay the same 

the only change is me

I'm sorry for how much I have used you

I wish I could be one of those people

who could keep their copy in perfect condition

who could keep their notes on a separate paper

is it because I long to mark my territory?

is it because I want to see more of me in you?

what have you become?

who have I become?

what am I?

how selfish can I be

to ruin you for my own pleasure

oh how miserable it must be 

to be used

but I can't stop 

I'm addicted