Diary, English, Journaling, Poetry, Thoughts

Scratch Paper

I’m hoping you’ll look at me.
and touch my skin,
to run your fingers
on every line of memory
you printed on me.

But if looking back
will remind you
of mistakes and a broken past,

I will enfold myself
in faithful loneliness,
slipping between the pages
of a forgotten book and
lie with the sleeping dust—

Until someone comes to unfold me
to correct your mistakes
and write new but better memories.


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