Notebooks

If it were for me,
I'd search between pages and pages
of your old notebooks
until with each turn
the yellow old pages
became dust in my hands

---

if it were for me,
I'd gather the dust in a jar,
just to pretend
the dust from those yellow old pages
were the remains of you,
your ashes,

And if I could,
I'd take that jar to the ocean.
And as I stand atop a cliff,
I"d throw the ashes
to the wind.
And as the wind
scatters them through the waves,
your ashes, that is,
I'd see them vanish
through the tides,
just as I saw the yellow old pages
in your notebooks,
vanish in my hands

just like I saw you, in a summer time,
vanish from my life.

---

Though if it were for me,

I'd search through the yellow old pages,

as a means of experiencing

a proper Good-bye...