on the pages clean of words,
agitation reigns.
what?
what of you?
what of your absence?
what of this whiteness?
what of your presence?
what of my aliveness?
after the sunrise,
came the storm.
it tangoed,
leaving its toeprints in the sand.
did i pretend to have the last word?
i am a confessional. i am a hand glass.
i am a hall of flawless mirrors.
one hundred thousand pages of confession,
you once wrote.
did i pretend to have the last word?
after the storm,
comes the sunrise.
come to me.
speak to me.
on the pages inked with words,
tranquility reigns.
