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.