Oh, the tales I could tell if only it wasn't so dusty down here beneath the old floorboards. Unlocking doors to places unseen, a cutter of bonds and maker of new secrets. I remember the first time I clicked into a lock, the whispering shadows of ancient love floating past as I turned, trembling. But who do I belong to now? There are no more doors, and my teeth are dull. Find another whisper.
Tick-tock, but never right. Times I remember—the heartbeats I captured were never mine. How I adore the rhythm they keep, and yet I can never tell it to stop. I envy the lines carved by the hands of lovers upon my wooden shell, each marking a moment suspended in a silvered, reckless grip of time. Remembered only when the hour is ripe. Beware of the ticking.
Soles kissed the ground with fiery love, lost in the echoes of paths taken. My partner's secrets echo in the cobwebs, tales too sordid for clean air. Each stride a confession, each scuff a reprieve. When the rain comes, I remember how love's paths twisted the soles that twisted me. Dry my tears or tread on them, you'll find me waiting. A chapter forgotten.
Once, I saw love sketched, blocked by fear at every turn. Graphite stains on fingertips make false promises; erased by time yet still trace the warmth of thoughts I can't remember aloud. The diary hides its secrets in margins, in mistakes turned to art. Here lies love, bound tightly and never read. Words unwritten.