A new notebook
with a beautiful cover
beckons me
to open it and to use it,
make it my own,
to explore my own hidden thoughts and desires,
to set myself free.
Yet I am frightened.
For what if I started to write,
branded it with my purpose
and then could not finish it?
What if my purpose deviated?
It would be a book of confusion,
damaged by its first love.
A beautiful ******, ruined by change.