How have you not left me
after all the trouble I’ve caused.
Run into another’s gentle hand to
to start a new diary by the window.
Gone with other books or pads.
Gone like the lead marks in my notes.
Flowed into a stationary for fresh pages
and clean lines not riddled with errors.
Somehow you continue to write with me…
spill your wet ink on my leaves without pause.
By Amaury Genao