Posted by inkstainedhands in ,

It is written in corners of pages

Always at the very back of notebooks

A place none but I flip through

A truth none but I see.

It is drawn in the margins

So small it is barely seen

So insignificant it never matters

To none but to me.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 6, 2011 at Friday, May 06, 2011 and is filed under , . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .


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