My life is a book.
13 years so,
13 very long chapters.
I feel like one of my chapters,
Has been ripped out.
I'm in love with the person
Who ripped it out.
He loved reading my story.
He would make comments on it like,
I love you,
You are beautiful,
You are an angel.
WHY?
Why would you make comments on my story,
If you didn't mean it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes, a book contains a torn page or two.