Document I "Crimson notes"

A witness to my own feelings and yet I could never confess anything
The torn notebook pages from my later work, carry a memory
Precious things I once said I could never part with leave me
As a thick layer of doubt and regret encompass me I notice change
If I hadn't looked at the women perhaps I wouldn't see ghost
Though she gave me a feeling I never knew in exchange for a conversation
I could never compensate that loss of feeling and so the moment was lost forever
finding some mutuality in causal encounters yet even that love was not enough
Showers removed the filth but the rest remained
I tried to rid myself of my habits
But I realize there's no running in the world
there is no place to hide feelings that slip out
I see now that things are "Meant" to be