Notebook's Lament Poem by Kewayne Wadley

With the purest intent I've opened my pages to you,
Although blank, I've filled them with your waking thought.
Misinterpreting your passion for expression.
I excuse myself for asking how your day was going,
Not knowing what awaited the center of my pages.
I didn't mean to love you,
Now knowing the caress of your hand.
I can't replace that feeling, the suddenness of being needed.
This thread binding me together, piece by piece.
I wish I could take back that offering now knowing what I know.
The regret of opening my pages to you.
Those moments spent idle jotting down what you truly felt,
I've worn you when I had nothing else to wear,
The flutter of pages kissed by your hand.
The indentation of your fingers rubbing down the page.
This admiration based on the eloquence of eyes to page.
I felt the throb of your heart through every word penned.
Only to be thrown to the side without revealing the reason why.
If I've done anything wrong you could have told me, there was only so much I could have done.
Was I too quiet, have I become to dependant on the thought you'd always be there.
At times my pages are fragile, quick to wrinkle from your quick slam of my pages.
The next notebook you buy I hope you get a paper cut for the way that you've left me