That little old book....

He picked up that little black book, dusted the years off it and put it to his chest; as if he were trying to merge his soul with the lifeless object's all over again. Come to think of it, that rusted and frail diary was quite the contrary. Flowing with secrets, lies and tales; he knew it could crush his life as he knew it. It knew his deepest desires, absorbed every ounce of pain and reflected those seldom moments of euphoria in his life.

Today, I lived.
Her dance was intoxicating.
As she twirled, kissed
and touched.
She touched,
killed and smiled
Ripped me into shreds
and redeemed my soul.
I smiled.

It spoke his mind, and even after so many years those damp and yellow sheets still smelt of his cologne. Some pages were wrinkled with his tears and some beamed with his joy, as they spoke the truth and many lies. The black leather binding was melted, her back was torn and broken. That title embedded in gold was rusted with time and emotions.

I can't breathe
and I can't miss you.
You're not here.
And I'm just trying to breathe
and my knees scrape the floor
Just breathe.

The corners were bent, turned down from the burden of ages, he thought to himself. Those tender pages melted together to form this wave. He closed his eyes and ran his rough hands over them, taking in the scent of his being. It was hard to imagine that those pieces of parchment captured his life, every crazy emotion, every living breath.

I smirked with my eyes.
That one lazy afternoon
and she knew me.
She saw my temper
soften
and I was helpless
All I could do was
simper.

As he flipped through his life, looking at glimpses from the past, he understood his being. That love poem he wrote for her, their photograph placed beside it, that leaf he preserved, the locks of her hair, the lyrics of his favourite song scribbled on the edges, his hand at art, his triumphs, his fall backs; The book preserved it all.

Today, was one of those days
when my heart swelled
I couldn't tell the exact moment
But I knew the feeling
it was calm and peaceful
Pure.
Of contentment.
Joy.
Of not worrying where the future goes
And when the past comes on through.
I just lay there
as I played hide and seek
with the sun
through those canopies.

He tied the red ribbon around his life and knotted it tightly, then folded it in that piece of blue silk to preserve what was left and placed it in his carved wooden box; switched off the lights and kept it there, in the dark.

With each written letter
from the falling ink
of that feather
Some letters formed words
disdain
A few exuded that peculiar pain
Many were exultations.
Screams of joy
A bit were random articulations.
some were plain ecstatic
but together
they spoke of his life
and what it used to be......