Judging a Book's Cover

I once gifted a book.

A book of my own making.

And during it's travels,

the cover suffered

the smallest of tears.

What could I do now?

At my destination

I didn't possess another.

And what did that matter?

It was about the content

not the condition of the cover.

In the exchange

from me to the other,

it was the flaw
that was first noticed.

Spoken out loud,

unconcealed from my ears.

The contents overlooked.

The rip in the cover,

extended clean through

 to my heart.

While this story is based on a true event, I realized during the writing that this also provided me with a metaphor. Me as the book, with depth and beauty in content, only to be overlooked by the viewer's limited perception and focus on a single flaw. 

I know now, that this was not about me.