I have a pink notebook.
These are its contents.
Poetry, prose, and snippets that don't qualify as either.
Today, I stumbled across a pink notebook I'd long forgotten.
Opening this pink notebook was like reliving moments from my past. Inside are poetry, prose, and snippets that can't be defined as either.
I sat on my bed and let my songs move me back to a place I haven't been in a long time...
How could I have ever forgotten this?