My Notebook,
How I miss you,
And our daily conversations.
I miss the way I clothed you.
Not with outfits,
But with words for all to see and hear.
I miss how it felt,
The continuous flick of the wrist
After each word I would write
And how the way each one
Made me feel just a bit smarter.
You were the canvas,
And for once something in my life
Felt absolutely beautiful.
I miss the adventures
We went on together
And The constant foes and heroes
That we met along the way.
And the millions of people we birthed,
Who's lives are still yet to be written.
I miss the way that I was responsible
For what happened in your world,
When I have no control in mine.
And your lines, so neat and straight
Blending in with every cursive word.
The way the pen touched the paper
Was a thing of such majesty.
And like artists, a poets job
Is to make the world a bit more beautiful
One letter at a time.