The Notebook
Our hearts, they tangle.
I remember the day I met him,
Fair as the coming dawn,
Hair like a fox,
Tall and lean.
I became someone anew that day.
He wasn't outspoken,
Nor was he the really strong type,
But he had his way of speaking.
He wrote everything down,
His thoughts, his dreams, everything.
His words, they came alive every time I read them.
I often hung out with him on his front porch steps,
Sitting with him on the old wood with its peeling paint,
Watching him write the whole day away,
And it seemed as if he were speaking the words aloud each time.
But I could feel that there was something else.
He acted as if he wanted me to leave,
And one day, I disappeared from his sight,
From his memories as well.
The years flew by,
And I finally forgot him.
But one day while cleaning,
I found a tiny wooden box,
And inside, what I surprise I got.
A notebook with a plain cover,
Not a title could be found on the front nor back.
But when I opened the book,
There stood his words,
Written in his fancy way,
Staring up at me.
A clock inside, with its hands rusted, creaked, started again,
It was such a shock.
His name was written at the bottom of the page,
And a note was tucked beside it as well,
The tape yellowed and falling apart.
Tears filled my eyes as I read,
"For every thought of you, it broke my heart.
I never thought you'd leave so suddenly.
But for every thought of you, I wrote it down.
My life is yours as yours is mine."
I clutched the book tightly to my chest,
Tears dripping down my face.
And I turned the page slowly,
I began to read.
And it was like he was sitting next to me,
Telling me everything aloud.
