I, Your Diary

Why do you write me secrets
you know I will never understand?
When you shape your words - tainted like flowers,
painted in regrets - they are like the heart
you tell me to hold onto as you fill
my empty pages, scribble after scribble.

I really do try to understand you,
but I can't - will you ever forgive me?
Your tears, how they always fall
and smudge everything (our ink and scribbles,
our silent misunderstandings)
until they spread like flowers.

But I wonder why I don't want you to leave,
even though we're so far apart.
You know, I once imagined reaching through
the smudges of this paper world -
just like how you reached for the sun
with your quivering hand.