12.05.10 | Imitation of a Notebook

(As written on the inside cover of my notebook.)

​​​​​This is an imitation
​​​​of a ‘notebook’.

It appears to be
​​​a stack of thin sheets of pulped wood and fibre,
​​bound by metal rings,
​sitting here in your hands,
​​​waiting,
​​​​     waiting,
​​​​​          waiting…

​But what does it wait for?
​​               you ask.

​​​Does it await
​​the settling of your dreams
​​​​into this curious integration of squiggles
                         ​​​​​called words?

​​​Does it await
​the spilling of your ink and graphite
​​​​after battles
​​​​​of ideology?

Or does it await
               ​​the true awakening
​of your enigmatic mind?

​​​​​Ah,
          ​​​​I say.
It does not await a thing,
for this imitation of a ‘notebook’
is merely a figment of your imagination.