An Ode to the Empty Notebook, Resting on my Desk

One-hundred pages readily await
Free, open, empty
With lines  to organize each virgin page
Pristine, unbent and unmarked.


What words will fill those pages
Anything could be placed within the covers
Be them doodles, secrets, or chemistry notes,
The possibilities are endless.


The anonymity of a blank page beckons
In notebooks reside art, friendships, souls, and intellects;
Yet when I lift my pencil to the page,
I cannot bring myself to spoil its pristine possibility.

The End

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