I want you to read me.

1005189_700695753277639_1213781839_nI want you to read me like a book.

I want you to read me like a book that speaks to you about all the things that make you ache to be alive. A book you have read a hundred times.

I want you to flip my pages and dog-ear my corners and pull the bits of post-its you placed on me to mark the words that breathe to you up to read the edges of the letters caught underneath.

I want you to underline my words in pencils of a thousand colors so that when you hold me between your thumb and forefinger and set me into motion, I look like sunset and sunrise across oceans of black and white.

I want you to hold me close to your chest as you live in me and through me. I want you to open me wide until my spine is pressed flat against some random surface, and if you have to do it to really understand the truth in me, I want you to break my binding. Because it will break someday, by age or by flame, and so I want it to be your hands that do the breaking.

I want you to not care that my life does not line up in chapters. That I feel like words torn from a thousand other pages and stuck in random places. That I don’t come with a glossary or timeline, or even an appendix. That my cover art is water-stained and faded.

I want you to see that though they are improbable and messy, my words make up something which you could think was beautiful if you  tried. That throughout the ragged edges of my pages, the letters I carry paint pictures with their curves and swoops that will show you things like people stretched and stitched together like trees in a forest, fingers clasped across the breach between car seats, wooden benches sitting in soft song filled air, grass against toes and waves against waists, teeth marks on lips and tears pressed against faces.

I want you to read me like a book.

Like the book I have always longed to be. Like the book I have dreamed of, in the moments when my hope and courage mount high and I can gaze down at the lonely lowly hills of my fears and anxiety and hard times and let the swift breeze lift up my laughter into a melody.

I want you to read me like a book.

I want you to read me.


-Jessi Sanders 2013


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