the past screams at me through old notebooks
the brittle pages dusted and delicate to the touch
nicotine stained edges, and fading ink of faded memories

each page, each dusted book whispers a story, a secret or a memory otherwise
lost in the sands of time

masterpieces left unfinished, so many words left unsaid, each heartbreak
recorded, each matter of the heart screaming at me through the tear stained
ink

Days of sheer agony and loves long retired
sitting patiently within my dusted book just begging for windows of broken
souls to gaze upon them

words i could never speak and dreams I could never achieve come pouring out
through this ink

each letter, each word, each contraction, each verb
showing a piece of my soul yet to be heard

tomorrow will come as yesterday walks by,
but these little words on these little pages will never die

pages come, and pages go
days fly by as my face grows old
but all these pages remain the same a beautiful unfinished story....
and here's another page
 
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