If Memories Were Ink

I’ve been trying to write about myself but all that comes easily to paper is you.

That’s all I have left.

Maybe if I write enough, I can let go.

With each swoop and loop, may the ink take away the knowing and the missing, the feeling and the lingering.

Take the vividness and the longing.

May all the memories be the ink that comes to dry across pages instead of tears that streak across my cheeks.

I don’t really want to forget.

I can never really forget.

I’m certain that eventually all pens run out of ink.

Here’s to writing and to hoping.

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Hope this finds you well,

-L