Before you left, you gave me a notebook and a pen.
You advised that I start writing about you
until the ink gets tired of bleeding your name
and the pages get hurt from the cries of pain.
the ink will be gone,
the pages will be burnt,
and you will be forgotten.
But, guess what?
I never used them.
Not because I don’t have to.
But because I don’t want to.
Daily Post’s I Can’t Stay Mad at You.