Your name filled up the three diaries I have kept— the only diaries I vow to create.
Each of them written from cover to cover.
I penned your name in ink: permanently etching the smooth planes of my notebooks.
Like a **** that turned into a scar.

Your name:
Written over and over and over and over and over again.
Until my hands tremble with weakness— tired of your name.
But my heart still whispered. Then screamed.
My heart still cried out, Begging, and Begging for release.

So my hand wrote till it memorized you. Every curve and crook of your name.
My fingers laced through every tangled lines and placed them carefully side-by-side.
Oh so carefully… so that your name would be spelled out perfectly.
Until the pen I hold, against my own will, scrawl you on every piece of paper I touch.

And with your name came the pain. My poems.
With your name came the tidal wave of emptiness.

I wrote and wrote your name, over and over.
A repetitive chant, an old cycle.
I wrote, caressing your name as I did.
With my whole being.
Heart. Mind. Soul.
Body.
My hand and mouth simultaneously verbalizing your name.

As if by doing so would make you love me.