Letter From a Map To a Diary
It’s no wonder you like secrets.
It’s not that your thoughts are secretive in nature.
It’s more that they are themselves a secret, penned on pages locked from view.
Hidden thoughts intrigue me because my journeys are inked in plain view.
Open roads and endless possibilities, I share them freely.
I welcome visitors, even those that would hurt me
With sharp pins to permanently mark their place on my heart.
You left your mark, too, but it was no pinprick. You inked a new road, a secret road.
As we traveled, I admired your depth and substance. I saw it in the width of your spine.
I fell in love with the light inside you. I saw it in the crisp white of your pages,
Though I only saw the edges.
I tried to pry the light out from the shadows cast by your cover, but it was locked. I never found the key.
I touched every inch of your leather exterior, but I never caressed the threads of those inner pages.
I never saw your handwriting.
I’ll never understand how you can keep something so illuminating as your very thoughts and ideas
Hidden in such a dark place.
Aren’t they lonely? Don’t they long to jump out of those pages and join someone on a journey?
I wanted to take them with me, speed along the interstates, meander along my curvy side roads.
I imagined you falling in love with my wandering spirit,
With my thousands of words, my secretive symbols, even my aging creases.
Even now as I reflect on our secret road,
I am aligning it in my mind to the current location of my “YOU ARE HERE” sticker,
Evaluating, “Does it fit here,” “Does it fit now?”
But who am I kidding? You don’t belong on the open road. You belong on a side table in a quiet room.
You exist to reflect, I exist to explore.
If we extend this road any longer, it will override other journeys I am meant to discover.
If we extend this road any longer, it will expose your secrets.
We will continue to inspire curiosity in our own ways,
But I will no longer desire what’s locked in your protected pages.
I will no longer daydream of folding myself up and snuggling into your binding,
Finding comfort as a bookmark that shares each entry with you, page by page by page.
But don’t worry; you’ll still know where I am. My path is imprinted on the very fiber of my being.
I won’t let pinpricks or impenetrable locks sway me from my transparent ways.
I’ll simply journey on. It’s what I do.
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