The girl in the book

He kissed her like she was an old frail book that hadn't been opened in a while. She lied there bound up and closed tight until he began to breath against her spine. The moisture in his breath filled the dryness of her soul and she felt herself awaken. His hand touched her paper like skin and butterflies twirled inside of her. She felt as though she was a forgotten book, sitting up on top of a very high shelf that rarely saw light that wasn't filled with specks of dust, but finally some one took interest In her cover and wanted to find out what she was all about on the inside. With every touch of his gentle hands and every stroke of his soft lips it felt to her like he was flipping the pages of a story she herself had forgotten existed. It wasn't rushed. He took his time to read the pages, took long breaths at the periods and kissed between every word. Until suddenly the girl who once clung to a book was no longer bound to the words of her old story, the paper that once kept her captive was gone. She was living a new chapter and it began with his eyes locked on hers. His copper eyes had a ring that reminded her of coffee stains and he smelled like vanilla and peppermint. His tan skinned glowed against her more pale complex and they were entangled in a sea of white cotton. There was a warm breeze that slipped through a near by window letting in the smell of rain that had been soaking into asphalt. She lied there with out worry, with out a care of the many who passed by and never even glanced at her direction, never even read her title. She realized she never wanted to open up for anyone else. She never wanted anyone to read her so closely, to learn every word, every line. The kisses eventually ended and she began to be curious herself. She wanted to read pages that were not her own. She never pried but when she had the chance she read the pages he allowed to be open with great detail, but at a much quicker pace. As her bindings became more lose his began to tighten. Of course once you have gotten attached to the words of a book, and the way it feels in your hand, you don't want to stop reading and you don't want to put it down. He crawled back into his book, and took his pages with him back to his own shelf far away. She felt incomplete with only few words of a story she would never know the ending to. The poor girl became frustrated with herself for opening up the way she did after so many years of being on top of herbookshelf. She found a lock that fit snugly on her binding and made her feel secure. She crawled back up to her shelf locked away tight with no key in sight. She sat there looking through the sun beams that carried specks of dust, and through it the only thing she could see was the book she never got to finish.