I”ll turn, all you were to me, in a story someday;
Relive the throbs of pain you put my heart through;
Smirk at the radiant smiles you once lit up my soul with;
Voyage back in time, to the endless years of trustful waiting ;
Languish the words from your heart, you unfeelingly fell unfaithful to;
Taste the tingle of your not choosing me;
And unforgive you for the courage you never had;
One last time.

But then if you are to become a story in time- all stories have an end;
With you then confined to the script of my paperback, 
The abandoned emotions will surge out the ocean from within me;
And with the release of words, I will liberate myself from you.
With nothing more spared to be felt, hoped and said, 
A Book would be authored- a story with a beginning and a close.

A sad love story will consummate in a Memoir,
Tucking in the forlornness of who you were, and who I yearned you to be,
I’ll shelve the book alongside the stories of heartaches and longings;
And oftentimes, scour off the dust from the story of you, that I fondly perused,
But a story that never perused me.