I had a notebook too. A brown notebook. I would write down about the world. I would write about how you failed to read the distant look in my eyes, and I in yours. I would write about the deepest rumblings that I’d heard from the heart of the earth, about the lushest night sky in my daydreams, about the most radiant daylight dreams in foggy nights. I would write without much thought. Fearless. I was so fearless with my brown notebook. Still brings a smile on my face. A poet with nervous hands. No one could hold him still. No one ever will.