Book

I thought that loneliness was a safe place to hide away and isolate myself from strangers with stories still untold, but I met you.
When I met you, your eyes were a densely packed thick book waiting to be read and understood.
Some people called me a madman, others called me stupid, while many didn't even bat an eye, I pursued to read you with all my heart and understand your side of the story.
As time goes by, I started to understand you. Little by little, you showed me the things that ruined you, you told me about your lines that felt like out of place.
I lend you my eyes for me to see that you had the right script but the wrong lines, I lend you my ears to let you sing about your unsung lyrics, I lend you my shoulders to let you rest from the eyes and mouths that haunts you, I lend you my silence you could speak up about your thoughts that you keep on whispering to yourself. 
You told me about every terrible thing you did, yet I loved you anyway.
I started to look at you like you were my whole universe, you cried because why would I call you my universe when you were full of dead stars, debris, and an empty void, I simply replied 'Even a ruined palace can still be called beautiful.'
But as the days passed by, things started to change.
You would only let me read you if you were sad, so I stayed and listened.
You would cry on my shoulders and tell me about your problems, and when things were okay you would just leave.
I held you too tight that I didn't even notice that you held me too loose, so I started to slip away.
I guess I forgot that you had another reader, you told me about him how he makes your heart flutter, how he makes you smile, on how he makes you laugh, wish I could read that side of the story.
So, with my heart filled with melancholy, I left you.
I learned you slowly, I was patient with your pages, yet I was the one who had a bookmark stuck into my heart because you walked away subconsciously.