Bigger On The Inside
Once you said that your life was an open book.
With put-on grin
admitted to pages stuck together.
Not an original statement.
Got it off something you read once.
Could not be sure.
One day you presented me with a journal.
Mark down all our adventures.
All our times together.
I’d write in it.
You picked journal entry titles.
Then you left about 20 pages in.
It’s a pretty journal.
I do not have the heart to rip the pages out.
Covered them with pretty pictures.
Overwritten some of the pages with
swear words in black marker.
One day I may just paste them together.
By A.E. Wallace