when i flip through my notebook,
i see your name cluttered in its pages.
its scribbled in the margins,
scrawled in big bold letters,
and sometimes,
i can see where i’ve written half of it
before reality pulled me
out of my own head.
your eyes are drawn
in my sketchbooks,
your words are etched
in my heart.
and then,
there is nothing.
barren pages like dead forests,
filled with invisible words.
invisible words like dirty water,
trickling off of my paper.
the letters in your name
don’t haunt me anymore.
they don’t tangle their fingers
into my hair and pull at my thoughts.
your eyes don’t seem to
watch me,
no matter how long i look.
your words are still
etched into my heart,
like the carvings that cover
old oak trees,
but they no longer mean
the things they did,
oh so long ago.
my notebooks are filled again,
with all the colors of a sunrise
and all the sounds of an orchestra.
a thousand emotions bleed into
its snow-white pages,
staining them with a color
i’ve never seen before.
they’re filled with endless hours
of a dull pencil dragging
across a new page.
they’re filled with myself,
flipping through its papers,
as the sun creeps into the sky.
my notebooks are filled
with everything now,
but never again will they be filled,
with you.