knowing is not knowing at all

I never thought i knew you, but apparently you knew me. all of me.

so tell me, if you knew me so well

why didnt you call

or say i love you

or knew what i did when i was sad

or knew where i hid my scares

or knew that i was oh so terribly alone.

you only thought you knew me 

as a person knows what a book is going to be about by just looking at the cover.

you never bothered to open me up, to flip through my pages.

thats why i never knew you.

I would read a same page 10 times with each time the sentences and paragraphs change.

so i closed you and sat you down.

as your book collects dust.

im not sad i never got to know you,

i dont apperciate people writing over pages in my book that i already written in.

you never knew me either,

only attracted to my book but its shapes and colors while yours lay their dull and bland,

i've met many people like you

people who know things by not knowing them at all.