Little Red Journal

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I have a little red journal.

At night

I reach for it.

Go back through its pages.

Revisit

Reread

Relive

Those moments in my life.

But I should stop.

Its history

is heavy

at night.

When it’s so easy to feel lonely.

It makes it too easy to feel lonely.

It’s the passages

from those years –

that year –

the years

from then

till now.

Now, I see

that my little red journal

is in shambles.

Broken spine.

Shredded leather.

Torn threads.

Loose pages.

I have a little red journal.

It's red.

It has fallen apart.

It is still, slowly, falling apart.

I want to keep it closed

Because it tells the same old story.

And I know that story.

That story I know too well.

I have a little red journal.

But I’m looking for a new one.

One that isn’t colored red.

One that won’t fall apart.

I have a little red journal.

I’m trying to keep it closed.

It’s closed

now.