I have a notebook filled with you.
Things I wrote when we were apart,
And I wanted to spell out what I was feeling.
Things I wrote when you sat opposite me on a train.
You read your book,
And I wrote it all down.
Things that weren’t about you at all,
But came to mind when I was with you.
Little sketches,
Little notes.
Little poems.
Little stories.
One word.
A sentence.
A world, filled with you,
Spilling over the pages.
Ink-stained leaves of love.
I clutch this book close to my heart.
Smooth the pages with my palm.
I can almost feel it breathing
With life,
With you.


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