I wonder if we could have been friends,
had we met with fewer time constraints
constricting our enjoyment.
To think, you could have had a home
sitting proudly on my shelf
where tempting pages might entice me
to read again those numerous words.
But our relationship was not to be.
An essay and a presentation later,
sixty percent of a total grade,
I’ve become weary of seeing you
sitting on my desk with your looming pages
and your dreary words.
So here we part,
my dear Bleak House,
and glad I am
that at least you only cost me two euro and forty-three cents.