How dare you tell me not to end the story of a book you've only glimpsed. You haven’t opened it — you merely skimmed the pages, never stopping to look inside.

You’ve never seen how the cover is scarred beneath those beautiful illustrations and patterns. They only blend — and you choose to ignore them.

While you sleep, the words grow louder. They don’t stop at night like other people do.

The author thinks of ending the book, wishing they could rewrite some event from a chapter you may have missed — or one you caused, then left behind without a thought.

This pen is heavy to hold, but for the love of the books, I will keep writing for as long as I can.