to a most familiar voice
telling me he's downstairs
with a belated birthday gift.
so i hop out of bed
[turn my swag on]
and greet him in my slippers
he hands me a beautiful journal
full of empty pages
except a note from him in the very front
full of silly jokes
and words of encouragement
to keep writing.
and for years i have shied away from
real live tangible journals in fear that
they would get in the wrong hands or
someone would blackmail me or
one day
i'd look back
and see the pain on every page
and know that this paragraph
on february 18, 2009
is jumbled and unreadable because
i was sitting on my bed
mascara running, gasping for breath
sobbing.
but after he left i looked at
and held up this
brown and gold bound up
gift from one writer to another
and i sat down at my desk
and carefully and painstakingly
thought out loud
and to my surprise
the words found their places
on the page
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