My journal says to me...
"So many times, I sit alone. In an empty room. Thinking how I'll spend this day without you. My remaining empty pages do little to cover my blank and thoughtless shame. Wishing I could do more. To love you. But all I can do, is wrap my pages around a small splinter of your mind. To record and protect you. And soak up your falling tears. With these same pages. The chapters of my heart are weak. With devotion to you. So many times, I sit alone. In an empty room. Wondering when you'll get tired of picking me back up. But you always come back. And do. Pick me up. Again. Life has become a pleasure, that can only be enjoyed by you." 
at 22:27
- PenSword72 likes this
