I pick up a book
	(I'm sure I've read it before)
Thinking when, though,
	I opened it once more.
The dust flies off the pages
	Like the words filling
My thoughts,
	my mind again.
	(I'm sure I've read this before)
For the excitement
	in the beginning
		hass dulled.
The end is expected,
	with nothing to hope for.
I have read it before
	because each falter
I yearned to fix.
	change the certain ending
into a perfect one.

However, the ending comes,
		unchangable as always.
	The story is set, as I am forced
		to read along once more.
Relive each sentence after another,
	Yearning for the change
		That will never come.