You feel like a fragile glass doll in my hands
and I must be frozen; 
I am afraid that the slightest of movements
might tarnish your seemingly perfect perfection.
I long to dive into your pages
and soak up every ounce of your story,
but I’m held back
by the fear of damaging your ravishing appearance. 
But I cannot resist your intriguing tales,
and soon you lure me in.
Fourteen chapters later,
a blanket of fatigue rests over me,
and as I nod off to sleep,
my elbow creases a fold on page 176.
Any feeling of tiredness  is out the door in an instant,
for I am too busy crying over your defect.
I knew I would destroy your flawlessness,
yet I still ventured in to hear your accounts. 
I can’t believe myself!
I sacrificed everything for you;
I passed on mom’s world-famous lasagna
and said ‘Sayonara!’ to my 10:00 bedtime,
and this is how it all ends for us?
I sincerely hope you can forgive me 
for ruining your mint condition because
I sure can’t forgive myself.