There are too many white pages on my book.
I can’t complete it. I can’t find the words.
Every thought is full of silence.
Every time I think of you my heart screams.
But there are no words on these screams.
My hands are full of ashes.
Ashes from the last page I’ve burned.
Always the same circle.
It seems like I can’t escape.
I write your name, I cut the page and then I burn it.
Maybe I should try a different name.
Those failed attempts show me something.
Spelling your name is my curse.
Burning my book will be my absolution.