Whenever I open the cover of a new notebook,
hear the crackle of the cardboard as it peels
away from the virgin pages, helping them all
tear slightly from each other, listen to the binding
break peacefully, hissing in anticipation of the stories and
truths and confessions to soon fill its pages, rubbing the remnants
of tree powder flaking from this beautiful destruction in my fingers,
I always think of the first day of school
excited as a chubby little boy to become immersed in
storytelling, knowledge, petty assignments and accomplishments
of intelligence I knew I was capable of.
Never many friends, never much belief in the world of my eyes,
I would stare into those pages for years finding my one compatriot
who would always be faithful, who always loved me back
equal to the love I would pour into it;
these books would serve as wombs for
what decades later would be a purpose in my brief
blip here in this endless universe; would be that blankie I wrap myself in
when I cannot breathe and life seems too lost, the only friend
and family that has is will always trust be there love every
moment of every second of every minute of every day of
my life.
Neither of us will be the same two hundred pages from now.
Both be a bit battered, worn and a bit bloated from the various
elements of this world, intentionally and not, but will have grown
in ways unimaginable to what we both felt was our purpose at the
beginning of this little journey of ours.
My safe-haven of memories and hopes, thank you for your patience,
for your humility, for your faith, thank you for believing in
me even when I do not and thank you for always saying Yes
regardless of what insane or absurd journey I ask you
to take with me.

 

 

 
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(written on the first page of a new marble notebook)