Week 30

I just realized I hate blank pages.
I'm sitting and staring at one right now.
The page, pure
and pristine.

He is a blank page,
I am not.
I come with pre-written instructions,
fill in the blank
with the answers erased
and written in again,
and erased.
The etchings remain
and if you close enough
you can make out the words.
It comes out the way I hold myself,
the way my thumb presses against
the flesh of my palm,
the way my heart beats faster
when I think about my future
or lack thereof,
the way things always go slightly awry.

But he is starting to fill in the blanks
of my heart,
slowly and carefully,
writing in pen.
I let him be,
my beautiful white blank page,
one day maybe I'll come up with a title,
the beginning, the end,
and the middle.