Unraveling the Lines

I picked up a pencil, its end worn down,

no eraser left to scrub mistakes away.

Each line a scar, each scribble a sound,

whispers of laughter that colored the gray.

Flipping through pages, where ghosts intertwine,

tangled sketches of dreams that slipped free.

Smudged ink holds tight to the paths we define,

a reminder of all that was never to be.

The frayed edge of notebooks, my fingers trace,

memories linger, like shadows at play.

In each soft scrawl, I can feel your face,

lost in the moments I tried to betray.