I found a little diary full of empty pages,
I decided to write all my happy stages.
Soon I realized how much I adored those memories, written with my ink, knowing it would never fade.
I would often flip back, read those very words, those stories over and over again.
Less did I know, that without them my life can never ever be the same?
Do you ever recall how just one tiny reminder
of this memory you once had can
Brighten up your day and bring the brightest smile, in that slightest moment so other can?
So, years passed by, I filled more pages.
More stories, and more memories.
So special I could never ever replace.
But a time finally came.
Where the ones I involved in my memory were no longer the same.
Questions raised again and again, what happened what changed, how could I be blind and not notice their game?
I now reached the final page, of my little diary.
A small summary of flashback written, of all the memories I once had behind
So precious, so dear.
How could I close my diary and end it all here?
I told myself, try, try once more, flick back the pages and remind them,
Show them, we can fix it right now right here.
Because I can’t let go, of what these memories mean to me.
Only I and my heart knows how much they are dear to me.
It did not work, I flipped a billion times and they still did not see.
I should have known by now, my pages worth were nothing for them to feel.
I again hold the final page on top of my hand.
Knowing if I turn this, I close it and I can no longer come back here to make a stand.
I try to turn it, yet it feels so heavy, It’s just a page! Turn it and close it! End it and leave the worry!
But how do I do it, when the weight of my emotions tells me don’t give up.
Try once more and see.
So I don’t turn and I flip back through all my memories, I notice something is wrong,
The words are no longer visible, they seemed to have got burned, filled with black ashes. My memories were gone and I learned this place is where I no longer belong.
It has to end, it has to stop.
I took a deep breath and closed this chapter of life, ready to move on.
The diary still remained, on top of my shelf,
it kept reminding me of what it once held.
I wondered, often, what worth is of something burned
And I then tell myself, it created scars for me to find my true beloved.