Blue Ink Bleed

Dust motes spun in the pale light,

my hand, it reached, instinctively right.

A box marked 'SCHOOL', held so tight,

I found the book, a faded sight.

My name, in blue, a shaky line,

"You'll make it through," a quiet sign.

That message, almost a design,

a truth I swallowed, wholly mine.

The ink, a bleed, a soft complaint,

a promise kept, though worn and faint.

I smoothed the page, no self-restraint,

that simple phrase, a solemn saint.