A worn out notebook
Blank pages
A mind’s best friend
A lost soul’s true companion.
Twisted words, written backwards
But the pages knew exactly
What I could not translate.
Welcoming blankness
Sweet escape
My pages of solitude
Allowed the soothing meaning,
A soul longed so desperately
To find somewhere to connect.
Inked treasure
The paper, my mirror
A worn out notebook
As alive as my soul longed to be
Freed all confusion
Absorbing the salty drops of nightmares
Turning disconnection into belonging
Belonging nowhere and everywhere
I belong where the pages wish to go.
Nida 𝔅. 🖤