5/7

He never left
the house without
that notepad, spiral-
bound with the brown
cover.

I liked to imagine
that he hid his dreams
there, sketches of glass
houses and melodies
no one knew but
him.

One day I found it
lying open at the foot
of his bed, white-
tipped pages curling up.
Sighing out a long
breath, I flipped through
budgets, lecture notes,
to-do lists.