The notebook creaked

The notebook creaked

under a loose floorboard’s hold,

yellowed pages folded back

like tired hands,

stained with old coffee and dust,

caught the dying light,

summer sliding down

the cracked windowpane.

I read sentences I wrote

when silence was a weight,

words tangled in half-understood things

now shouting,

but I can only listen

while the light slips,

and the moment’s gone.