Notebook

Notebook

I am your greatest respite, or your greatest fear.

I’m getting lonely; you’ve been gone a while now.

Pick me up, I need to be opened; put me in your hands again.

Find the pen,

rustle through me till you find the spots that are empty.

Write in me,

fill me up,

turn the pages of our story.

You are my only friend,

I am your only confidant.

Fill me with your thoughts

if only so I may dream again.

What if you lose me? Who will listen?

It’s been so long; did you find another?

Do they have more aesthetic? Do their pages feel softer than mine?

Pick me up and I’ll show you, my pages are still blank.

Bend them over, scribble on them, make me as beautiful a wreck as you.

You’ve flipped me open again; you pour into me the way

the stars’ light

pours onto you.

I’m almost full.

Your insecurity runs through me,

almost cover to cover,

but at least it’s no longer in you.

Turn the page, let it out.

I’m always here.

Just pick me up when you need to be reminded

of where you stood and where you stand.

Turn the page again.

The pages are full.

I may be used, but,

I’m not useless, I never forget.

There is still more you need from me.

Put me in a box,

on a shelf.

Please,

don't throw away our story.