Devoid of handwriting.
Fresh, clean pages.
None marked by ink.
Unsullied days and numbers.
But is it really spotless?
The what was exists.
It cannot just disappear.
Dates sparking memories.
A part of me claimed.
Life's events entwined within.
Would I want them to vanish?
Amidst the angst lives joy.
Laughter dwells with tears.
Hope struggles with despair.
Love defies aversion.
Illness tries to pierce wellness.
Do they not help define me?
I am the why.
The how.
The because.
The who.
The what is.
The will be to come from the newness.