He is the text to my white-sheeted soul,
giving my energy potential; I am titled.
The coffee stains and characters have purpose
when accompanied by our story.

And on that night, he inscribed his
words to become the beginning of our novel:
our first conversation transformed
my diary into dialogue.

Our roughly-colored previous pages tether and tear,
as we build a better time out of new pulp.
We aren't unwritten, for see on this heart of ours,
is the carving of Fall's creation.

He let me in;
his open wounds
made it easier.