THE BLANK NOTEBOOK

Not everyone uses the same words.
No, not everyone pronounces
unfulfilled promises the same way.
Words including those that justify us,
including those that die upon being pronounced
and upon opening our mouths
the ones that simply disappear
do not make us guilty or innocent
of what is going on in the world
or responsible for what happens to us.
The ones that’re wrapped in plastic
the poisoned ones, those that cannot be found
like the ones that are not thought but are said
like the ones that are not felt but are said
these are the ones that live among us.
Among the words, pain.
Among life and death, words of affection.
Among the words of silence, words of love.
No one like you to pronounce my name.
No one like me to know what you feel.
No one among the words
you pronounce daily.
And no one like us to repeat
the ones that do not belong to us
when we write them in silence
in a blank notebook.
In a notebook blank
as the snow that falls
or the frozen hand that caresses your face.
Among the words, deception.
Among pronounced words, the most beautiful lacking meaning.
Among silent words, the ones that are true.
And the authentic ones, the ones of thwarted silence.
The ones that are felt approaching
like nonexistent knives.
The ones that without denying what they said
simply rise up into heaven.

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