Every day a new page turns

and it’s blank, and warm to the touch.

It catches you off guard at first glance

but it waits, ever so quietly, until you are ready.

Then it begins to smell of your favorite smell

and it calls your name in your favorite voice

and that’s how you know it belongs to you.

So you begin to fill it.

And the writing is everything-

it blurs, it smears, it flows across the page

it laughs, it bleeds, it pauses, it skips over thoughts and through words

and leaves you with everything. anything. nothing.

New page.