Chapter one —
This is a story of two souls,
Carefully woven like words
On the first pages of a book,
Sure and unsure at the same time
Such a story is unlike any other.
It is the kind
That inspires the sun to shine brighter,
Yet welcoming the surreal setting sun.
It is the type
That inspires butterflies to fill one’s tummy,
Yet calming like the early morning dew.

Chapter Two —
This is our story:
A man who loves
A woman with a broken soul.
A woman who loves
A man with a unique heart.
A love that cannot be grasped,
Nor contained,
In even a poem’s stanza.
It is a love
That answers her many questions of why.
It is a love 
That makes her want to be healed for good.

Ours —
Is a story,
Which one would not normally pick up
In the displays of a book sale.
For whose attention will our storybook get,
When our story is untitled?
Whose eyes will it catch,
When we are undefined yet?
It is a story that will anger any reader.
For it is a story.
That was.
Like the lines.
Of this poem.
Leaving everyone with a gasp.

I —
Will be telling you a secret:
That I have a hunch of getting ahead
Of the authors’ mind.
An overthinker,
Imagining the plot twists in my head,
In writing in my mind 
The characters’ words,
The sweet bliss of love
Of tragedy and fate,
Even before I actually read them.

I —
Have another secret to tell you:
That I once ran through a bookstore
And saw an untitled book.
I hesitated once to buy it,
For who would even read such story?
But still,
I went to the counter
Paid for it
And told the lady
I will be extending this story
Of you and me.
Hoping that someday
Our names would be on its covers.
Our story will continue until the ink
Blotches on the pages.
And our story would not remain…