Ink on a Page

Memories are a page in a notebook.

We carefully choose the perfect pen that spills the perfect pigmentation of ink, A milky consistency flows out of the pen as we etch our lives onto a page,

We write and write and write.

Careful to spell out every detail down to the most minuscule point in fear of forgetting each moment.
 
We can illustrate our loved ones faces and the way they embraced us in the fine print and in between the lines.

Sometimes we make the mistake of writing while wearing rose colored glasses, that may change the ink,

but it doesn’t change the words.

 We finish composing, put down our pen, and must come to terms with the end of the page.

Sure, we can come back and visit the spot where it will exist forever, but we will never be able to write on the page again.

We will never be able to live in the world of our words again.

Once we turn the page it’ll be,

 over.

What happens when we run out of paper?